At the Heart of the Matter
by L. Loire
Summary: CHAPTER 14 UP! What happens to everyone in the timeframe in the 3 months between the end of RE2 and the beginning of RE: CV? A story about what goes on with the entire RE gang, including Ark from RE: Survivor. Read and review, please! IN PROGRESS.
1. Prologue: A Veil of Death

**At the Heart of the Matter, **by L. Loire

Author's Note: I am writing this novel in hopes that I can reach 50,000 words, for I am participating in the NaNoWriMo contest, the objective being to write a 50,000-word novel by midnight, November 30th. If you are interested in joining, go to www.nanowrimo.com.

Disclaimer: All characters used here are from the Resident Evil series, and are owned by Capcom. I have no ownership of these characters. The two characters of John and David are from S.D. Perry's book "City of the Dead," the 3rd book in her Resident Evil series. Once again, I have no ownership of these characters—they belong to her. The time frame for this story is in the three-month period from the end of Resident Evil 2 to the beginning of Resident Evil: Code Veronica. 

For this novel, I am taking a different spin from S.D. Perry's _Underworld,_ writing in this scenario: what if the group hadn't gone to "The Planet?" Instead of following the enigmatic Trent, what if they proceeded as planned and went to Europe? What about Jill and Carlos?

Hope you enjoy!

**Prologue: A Veil of Death**

            The three of them ran for the break of day at the end of the tunnel, sprinting away from certain death. Claire Redfield's heart was pounding ferociously in her chest, as if ready to burst out of her any second. The death trap behind her was alive, writhing as the abomination formerly known as William Birkin covered the last several cars of the escape train with huge slimy tentacles. Grasping her hand tightly, the daughter and only surviving Birkin left, Sherry, ran as fast as her short stubby legs would allow. A few feet ahead, the tattered blue-uniformed RPD officer Leon S. Kennedy ran headlong, frantically looking behind him to make sure the other two were in close proximity. 

            _Almost there…just a little closer…_

            Suddenly the walls of the tunnel filled with the sounds of what could have been a roar from William, a high-pitched shriek mixed with possible guttural sounds. With one hand, Sherry in a futile attempt raised it to her ear, and was inadvertently jerked by Claire. Sherry let out a cry of fear, fear for herself, fear for what her father had become; fear that she was going to be burned beyond recognition in a matter of seconds. Their free escape from the self-destructing Umbrella Laboratories was suddenly marred when Umbrella's next fail-safe kicked in. According to a report Leon had found, protocol dictates that in the event of a bioorganic contamination leak, a five-minute self-destruct system would activate, and all employees would escape to the underground escape train at the bottom platform. Once on board, the train is faced with two possible scenarios: one; if the biohazard contamination is on the train, then a two-minute self-destruct timer would activate, and all employees would move to a safe car. The contaminated car would thus be detached from the train, and would explode when the time expired. Two; the employees escape to safety. However, if the entire train were contaminated, then it would detonate with everyone on board. 

            In this scenario, this was not an option. As soon as William was found to be on the speeding train, a calm female voice blared over the system PA: "Warning. Bio-contamination onboard. Repeat: bio-contamination onboard. Two minutes until detonation. Repeat: two minutes to detonation." At a moment's notice, Sherry activated the emergency brake, slowly bringing the train to a stop as Claire began plugging round after round into the gelatinous mass, the final product of the yet untested G-Virus; the cause of everything—the inevitable ruin of Raccoon City, the corruption of the Raccoon City Police Department, the loss of countless innocent lives, all pointing back to Umbrella. At the first possible moment, the three survivors high-tailed it out of the railed coffin, not stopping to look back.

            _The light…so close…_

            A deafening sound filled the tunnel, shaking the walls violently as the explosives detonated. In the midst of the processing explosion, a final cry, a possible wail of defeat emanated from the caroming blob of an exploding William. The explosion went from car to car, and for the first time, Sherry looked back, having one last fleeting glimpse of her father that was. 

            "_Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddy!" Sherry screamed before a bright fireball of yellow, orange, and red overcame her vision. She felt herself flying through the air, and as she looked, she had one final split second glimpse of her dying father. Time seemed to pass in an eternal slowness, the law of gravity itself seeming to have been repealed as the young Sherry felt as if flying on air, the sounds of Leon screaming all but faded, louder than the explosion that rocked the tunnel. Her fragile child body suddenly felt a wave of chill air, a sharp contrast to the incinerator that was the tunnel. The young Birkin hit the damp earth with a thud, her grip on Claire's hand becoming lost at impact. Shaken, she sat up and looked once again at the exploding wreckage, seeing the last of the detonation fade into obscurity as thick black smoke rose up from out of the tunnel._

            _Daddy…_

            "Daddy," she said softly, a salty tear rolling down her cheek. She was an orphan now, both her parents falling victim to the conglomerate known as Umbrella. Her own husband, William, killed her mother, Annette. Annette, wanting to see her love (as transformed as he was) is found by William, and disembowels her. Whether he had human mental clarity or not is questionable. She only had Claire now, the person who she grew attached to during their trials. Sniffling and brushing tears aside, she felt a warm comforting arm embrace her. She snuggled into Claire's arms, Claire stroking through the softness of the young girl's hair. There was an unnatural silence that hung in the air—perhaps the realization that they may have been one of maybe just a handful of survivors hadn't sunk in yet. The trio had not said anything, for there was nothing to say. Sherry felt the warm feeling of the sun on her face, and Claire looked toward the horizon, looking at a scene that looked very much like a sunrise. Morning has broken. 

            They certainly could have passed for the living dead. Walking along a lonely road, Leon spotted an approaching car. With what little energy they had left, they began waving their arms in a desperate attempt at recognition. Their gestures had worked, for the car pulled over. Leon took charge, and began to exchange words with the man. Claire was too drained to listen in, but noted that the man Leon was talking to had a clear British accent. In a matter of minutes, two other figures emerged from the car, one a young girl, perhaps in her late teens at best, carrying a medical kit; the other a man, well built, pulling out several blankets for use by the tattered three. Quickly, the three took to the vehicle, and Sherry quickly fell asleep on Claire. The driver turned the car around, and headed in the direction they had come, leaving the ruined city behind forever. 

Like it thus far? Let me know! Soon I will have posted **Chapter One: Wanted, Dead or Alive. **


	2. Wanted, Dead or Alive

**Chapter One: Wanted, Dead or Alive**

            Leon Kennedy looked behind him, seeing the black smoke from the destroyed Umbrella lab hang over the soon-to-be demolished Raccoon City like a veil of death. Surely, Umbrella wouldn't be able to cover that up so swiftly, but it was probably no doubt that they already had their cleanup crews in place. He looked toward the front again, seeing the driver and the young medic staring ahead at the lonely road, and from the looks of it, lonely for miles. No one said anything for a few minutes, giving the exhausted three a slight calm. Their homes, lives, and families were all affected by Umbrella's bumbling.

            Finally, the driver broke the silence, his crisp British accent cutting through the atmosphere in the vehicle.

            "Where are my manners? My name is David Trapp, from the S.T.A.R.S. Exeter branch in Maine." Leon and Claire exchanged looks.

            "S.T.A.R.S?" Leon asked surprisingly. 

            "Yup," the young girl said, her voice cheery. "I'm Rebecca Chambers, S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team, Raccoon City…or what's left of it." Now Claire spoke up. 

            "So you're the one that's left!" Claire exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly, for Sherry was beginning to stir. She moaned softly, then snuggled back alongside Claire. 

            "The only Bravo Team member left…true." Rebecca looked a little saddened by this fact, as true as it was.

            "Leon Kennedy, rookie from the Raccoon City Police Department. First day on the job…and already I want a raise." A nervous chuckle escaped him. 

            "Exciting first day, I would imagine," David replied. "Not everyday you escape a necropolis." His tone turned serious. "Any other survivors that you know of?" 

            Leon bowed his head. "Not that I know of, sir."

            "Please," David said congenially. "Call me David. No need for formalities." 

            "David it is, then." The well-built man next to Leon reached out his hand in a handshake offering. "John Andrews, also from the Exeter S.T.A.R.S." Leon responded in proper method and forced himself a grin.

            "Claire Redfield," Claire said finally. Leon noted a look of surprise, a flicker of movement in David's eyes, as if suddenly placing two and two together. Rebecca's eyes also showed a sudden curiosity. 

            "Would you…happen to know Chris Redfield?" The young Rebecca asked. 

            "He is my older brother. I came into this town looking for him," Claire said quietly. Then a sudden realization hit her. "You know my brother?"

            "We worked at the same precinct." Rebecca said quietly. "He helped me escape the Spencer estate in the Arklay Mountains, a little outside Raccoon City."

            "Where is he? Where is Chris?" Claire asked with a growing impatience. 

            David raised one hand, as if quieting the younger Redfield. "Patience, my dear. Let's not rush too blindly into things, not after the ordeal you three just went through. All will be told in due time, Claire."

            Claire looked as if she was on the verge of tears. "Just answer me one thing."

            David looked at her from the rearview mirror. "Yes?"

            Claire bit her lip. "Is…he safe?"

            David's eyes registered an emotion of the positive. "No need to worry. He's safe." 

            "Thank you," she whispered. 

            _Thank God…you're alive._

            "Well, that's some good news." Leon said.

            "Who's the girl?" Rebecca asked, referring to the soundly sleeping Sherry.

            "Sherry Birkin," Leon answered, "daughter of the scientist who created this whole fiasco, William Birkin, creator of the G-Virus."

            Rebecca's eyes widened in amazement. "You mean the William Birkin? One of the top Umbrella scientists?" 

            "The one and only," Leon answered. 

            "And what of her parents?" John asked.

            "Both dead." Claire said solemnly.

            "How?" Rebecca asked. 

            "Umbrella wanted William's yet untested G-Virus for their own maniacal means. William refused to give it to them, for it represented his life's work. So they decided to take it by force—wounding William critically and taking his G-Virus. Left with one vial, the dying William injected himself and became a hulking monster, transforming into a tentacled aberration. As a result, he killed his own wife. During our escape, he managed to climb on board, tripping the self-destruct. We escaped, and he was destroyed when the train detonated," Leon said, recalling the events of late.

            "An orphan child. What do we do with her?" John asked.

            "For now," David began, "she comes back with us. She's been through more trials in these recent days than anyone could fathom." 

            "If you don't mind, David, but where are we going?" 

            "Exeter, Maine." David said. "It'll take us a while, so sit tight."

            Leon slumped back in his seat, looking out the window next to him, seeing the flat land roll by. He looked behind him once again, and saw now the same black billowing smoke, receding, shrinking into the horizon. Today would be the last day that Raccoon City would see daylight. The car rolled merrily along the long, open stretch of highway, the only car for miles around. With the knowledge that Chris was, in fact, safe, at a location unknown to her, she placed her head on Leon's tattered uniform, closed her eyes, and headed off into slumber.

            _Warning. The self-destruct sequence has been activated. Repeat: the self-destruct sequence has been activated. All personnel should evacuate immediately. _

            "Shit!" An angry Jill Valentine yelled in the disposal room. She just got done dispatching another one of Umbrella's bio-freaks, Nemesis. Looking around for that asshole UBCS Nikolai, the Umbrella supervisor, she cautiously stepped toward the door when she suddenly the room seemed to have come to life as sirens blared, machinery whirred, and she could hear the sounds of platforms moving.

            _The disposal's been activated…_

            In the disposal room, the partition suddenly gave way, and countless bodies began falling into the decomposition fluid, including the lifeless body of Nemesis. The mass of tissue and sinew sank slowly to the bottom, amidst the myriad corpses. 

            Her heart racing, Jill spied a door that needed an Umbrella key card. Using the one she found from a dead scientist in the disposal room, she waved it frantically in front of the reader. The signal light emitted a confirming beep, the light changing to green, followed by the sound of a _click as the lock mechanism released. All around her, she could hear that calm female voice announcing evacuation. As the dull metallic door slid open, she was greeted by three naked zombies, the decayed carrion alerted to her presence. With quick response, the "gangrene gang" turned in her direction, moaning, arms outstretched, wanting the sweet liquid of her lively blood. With one quick shot from her Beretta, she downed the first zombie with a bullet through the head, the rotted flesh splaying. To conserve ammo, she ran headlong for the door at the end of the narrow hall, brushing past the virus carriers, but not before she took an inhale of putrefied flesh. Opening the door handle, she entered the room and quickly closed the door behind her. She leaned against the door for a quick moment, noticing an eerie silence throughout the room. From her observation, it appeared that she was in some sort of communication room, a radio room, judging from the radio equipment nearby. Lying on a soundboard to her right was a grenade gun loaded with a few grenades. _

            _Odd place for a grenade gun…_

            Directly in front of her was a ladder, with a platform covering the entrance. Walking to it, she made out no way of opening it mechanically. As a result, her assumption was probably that it was electronically locked. A beeping sound cut through the abnormal silence, making Jill jump. 

_            Someone sending over a transmission?_

            Looking at the switch underneath the flashing red light, she flicked it and suddenly heard a familiar voice.

            "…if anyone can read me, please respond!"

            "Carlos!" Jill breathed a sigh of relief. 

            _He's still alive…_

            "Jill! Listen to me. The city is about to become ground zero. The feds are going to launch a missile at first light and wipe out the entire city! Where are you?"

            "I'm in the radio room—" Suddenly Carlos' words clicked. "_What?! They're going to obliterate the city? Who gave the order?"_

            "The military. Umbrella. Umbrella wants to destroy all evidence." Carlos said resigned. 

            _You have got to be shitting me! Fucking corporate assholes. They'll do anything to cover their "accident" up—even go so far as to destroy over a hundred thousand civilian lives!_

            "Bastards! No time to waste. Where are you?" Jill asked, her mind heavy with dread. 

            "I'm at the warehouse, near your position. I found us a ride out of here. See that radar next to you?" 

            Sure enough, there was a tiny radar detector next to the soundboard. "Yeah, I see it."

            "Good!" Carlos exclaimed. "Use that to see how far away the missile is from the city. We don't have much time. Go down that ladder and follow the path to the warehouse. There you should be able to get to my position."

            "Roger that," Jill confirmed.

            "One more thing…" Carlos began.

            "What?" Jill asked intuitively.

            "Nikolai is still around. Watch out for him. See you soon. Over and out." Carlos ended the transmission, Jill hearing the faint click as he signed off. Grabbing the receiver next to her, she pressed a tiny button and a green radar screen came on, and the word "searching" flashed on the tiny screen. Her ears suddenly picked up a familiar sound…the sound of helicopter blades whirring.

            _Carlos? No…_

            The room was quickly filled with the deafening fire of machine guns, the weapons firing full into the radio room. She dove to the floor out of instinct, as machine gun rounds ricocheted off the walls and radio equipment, the tiny metallic rounds hitting the floor, hot from the friction. The glass windows shattered all around her, and Jill was in the midst of flying bullets, glass shards, and smoke. After only a few seconds, the peal of gunfire stopped, and the sounds of the moving chopper filled in the void. With her hands clasped tightly behind her head, she heard a sound of laughter from a certain someone. 

            "Ms. Valentine, come out. I know you're in there," the all-too-familiar Russian voice of Nikolai said menacingly. Staying down, she knew better than to listen to this murderer.  

            "It's no use!" He yelled, then let loose once again with another maelstrom of machine gun fire, sparks filling the room. Suddenly the soundboard above Jill exploded in a vast array of sparks, raining down on the bare skin of Jill. A bullet whizzed past her head as one sliced clean through the structure. Quickly, she got up and ran for the exit, when the grenade gun caught her eye. In one quick motion, she grabbed the gun and aimed it at the gray 'copter. At the sight of Jill, he stopped firing and once again spoke. 

            "You have managed to survive this long," he said, a sneer across his face. "Personally, I am impressed. You've have dodged the Nemesis for this long."

            Jill stood firm, unwavering from the madman, the grenade gun ready at a moment's notice. "Why? Why did so many have to die?" She demanded. "Was it because of your so-called higher ups? Is that it?!"

            Nikolai let out a cocky chuckle. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Umbrella wants me to collect the combat data from this exercise. They also want those pesky S.T.A.R.S. out of their hair…forever."

            "Combat data?! Exercise? Is that what they're calling it? An entire city full of zombies created by their doing for experimental data?" 

            His gaze stood firm. "Precisely."

            "Then why don't you kill me now?" Jill asked.

            He laughed once again, that snide laugh which almost made Jill pull that trigger. "I don't need to. This city is going to be obliterated in just a little bit. I have the only escape out of this death trap. You will be incinerated, wiped, just like all the others!"

            "_Like hell I will!" She pulled the trigger, sending a live grenade through the open window. A look of surprise flashed across his face as the grenade connected with one of the machine guns, exploding it on impact, sending the chopper wobbling. The explosion caught him by surprise and he pushed the button to activate the other gun…but no go. The explosion must have knocked out the workings for the other one._

            "You bitch!" Nikolai yelled, furious. "You will burn in hell!" Lowering the gun, Jill took her free hand and flashed him a vulgar gesture. Livid, Nikolai quickly placed the chopper in gear and flew quickly away, screaming curses in Russian as he left. 

            "Fucker," Jill said, until a siren blared in the radio room. Suddenly a female voice chimed over the public address system: _Warning. Missile attack confirmed. Warning. Missile attack confirmed. Emergency level…D. All personnel, evacuate. _She pulled out the radar detector and saw the display go red, the word going from "searching" to "caution" as a tiny blip appeared at the outside of the circle grid. 

            _Fuck…it's on it's way._

 Jill heard the faint click of an electronic lock being released and she saw the covering for the passage below rise. Wasting no time, she headed down the ladder, only to see yet another trial…the room below was full of lying down, dormant zombies. 

_Nice trick, playing possum like that. Got to give them credit, though. _

It would be fruitless to attempt the tiptoe approach through, so she only had one idea—brazenly run through the dormant death party and hope for the best. Bracing herself, she bolted down the corridor, not caring about what or whom she stepped on where, but in no time at all, she safely made it to the exit door. Suddenly she found herself outside on a dirt path. Stopping to look at the horizon, she could see that the sky was starting to get lighter.

_No time…no time…_

 On all sides of her were crushed cars, parts, and other garbage as she walked quickly down the path. It had ended at a large metal door, illuminated by the light above. 

_This must be the warehouse that Carlos talked about…_

Hesitantly, she opened the door and quickly entered. She took no more than a few steps away when suddenly the ground shook, and something large crashed into the door, creating a huge bulge, and in effect, jamming the door. Looking at the warehouse she entered, she could see tall steel shelving units, twisted, bent and warped beyond repair. Hanging from these were the pale blue figures of people, their eyes rolled into the backs of their heads, mouths forever fixed in an open position, and dark crimson stains over their bodies as their blood dried. Judging from their uniforms, they were a mix of U.S. Military and some of Umbrella's mercenary army, the U.B.C.S. To her left, also lying in a pool of blood was one of Umbrella's creative pets, a form of a Tyrant, its large disproportional heart stopped in death. Moving quickly, she followed the path to her right—and stopped in her tracks. In front of her, she saw a huge object, looking like a generator, but then quickly realized that she had seen this before. From the rail cannon, she noticed the many wires attaching it to the computer control panel next to it.

_A rail cannon? What is a rail cannon doing here, of all places?_

Moving past the rail cannon, she found what she was looking for—the door to escape, the door to leaving this nightmare behind. A renewed sense of energy filled her tired body, and she ran to the door, turning the handle—

--but to no avail. The door, typically, was locked. 

"What?!" Jill screamed in anger. She began to kick the door out of anger.

"No! No! No! Not while I'm this close! Of all the…" Her eyes caught a sign on the door.

_In the event of an emergency, power to the door and elevator beyond will be cut for a limited time. _

"I don't have all day, damn IT!" She kicked the door again. Nothing. Suddenly her mind began to form an idea.

_Maybe if I activate that rail cannon, I can blast my way out of here…_

It may have been all for naught, but it was her only hope, her only chance left. Glancing quickly at her radar screen, she noticed it was about 20% of the way there. 

_Almost out of time…_

She made her way quickly to the control panel and pressed a button. A male voice spoke. "Checking…battery." Jill heard three clicks from various points in the warehouse. "Warning. There is not enough power to…activate the system." 

_Typical. Absolutely typical. Where are the batteries? _

Next to her was battery 3. To her left by the exit door was battery 2. Where was the first? Looking around, almost frantically, she retraced her steps back to the double doors where she came in, and almost kicked herself when she saw battery 1 next to the dead Tyrant. 

_Guessed I overlooked that…_

Wasting no time, she pushed the first battery into its reddish chamber. A click was heard, and Jill could faintly hear the computer voice: "Battery…connected." To her surprise, a bulbous blob dropped from the ceiling, and began to mutate.

_No…it can't be…no fucking way…_

The blob began to sprout tentacles, and began to grow at an exponential rate. Purple fluid shot out of the writing mass as Jill could hear the sick sounds of muscle and sinew stretching, bones locking themselves into place. Jill moved back quickly, and cried out in involuntary disgust as fleshly lumps emerged from the slick, quivering mass. In no time at all, it grew large as viscous fluid seeped from tiny slits in its body. Nemesis, the S.T.A.R.S. killer, survived the disposal pool and now in front of Jill, with one objective: kill Jill. Another sick sound of ripping skin emerged as it grew what may have been limbs, each of them sporting razor sharp claws. It let out a roar, a whiny, ear-splitting feral noise of anger.

_It…cannot…be…_

How is it, everyone? Like? Don't like? Review, please! I want feedback! Soon, **Chapter Two: Unfortunate Event** will be posted.


	3. Unfortunate Event

**Chapter Two: Unfortunate Event**

 With no warning, one tentacle shot out, hitting the hand holding her grenade gun, sending it flying out of range.

_Fuck._

 It leaped onto the shelving unit above, and let out another primeval roar. She rose up, and saw the undulating mass open another hole, letting out green poisonous acid in a spray everywhere, the acid splashing near her.

"Shit!" She cried, and dodged the bubbling liquid. Her feet moved quickly towards the second battery, and as she did, she fired several rounds in quick succession, the hot rounds hitting the spongy body of the Nemesis, making sick splats. At the second battery, she pushed the heavy object into the chamber.

"Battery…connected."

_Third one…almost._

            She fired a few more rounds, but it seemed like that they were having no effect on the quivering blob at all. Pushing the third one in with all her strength, she heard the satisfying click as the third and final battery was in. Another spray of hot acid shot out from Nemesis, splashing the ground near her, a few drops hitting her bare leg. She yelled out in stinging pain, then began to run. The control panel let out a shrill beep, a confirmation.

            "Battery…connected. Activating…rail cannon sequence. Rail cannon…operative." The warehouse was suddenly filled with the sights and sounds of bright white light as lightning sparks danced all over the rail cannon. Jill heard the sweet hum of the cannon coming to life, the crackle of electricity a welcome. She ran to the dead Tyrant, looking for a weapon she could use but she saw nothing. The hulking mass watched her every move and began to slide across the steel structures to her position. Draining the last few bullets, she took another clip and slammed it home, then opened fire. 

            "5…4…3…2…1…fire." A brilliant ball of white energy shot out from the rail cannon, and the sheer force of the blast blew a wide trench, completely obliterating everything in the line of fire. Nemesis fell to the floor as his platform blew out from under him. He let out another splitting roar.

            _If I can just get him in that path…_

            She ran from the control panel, and stopped to a position directly in front of the rail cannon, staring at the aberration face-to-face. She fired, the sounds of the Beretta drowning out the sounds of the weapon once again warming up behind her. Each hot slug hit the altered freak, but again had no effect. He lashed out a tentacle at her, but she quickly dodged and made way to the other side of the trench, this time behind Nemesis. She wanted to keep him in there, but as soon as she ran, he began to climb up once again onto the remaining structures. When she got there, she was greeted by another acid rain, stopping her in her tracks. After that, she had one other idea. She ran into the newly-formed passage, baiting Nemesis. His drive for blood made him oblivious to the fact that she was luring him to his ultimate death. Slowly he began to climb down toward her.

            "5…"

            To avoid another possible shot from his poison, she ran once again in front of the cannon.

            "4…"

            A primal roar escaped him as he began to slide his way toward his prey.

            "3…"

            _Come and get me, you asshole!_

            "2…"

            She continued firing, screaming.

            "1…"

            She dove out of the line of fire, and watched in anticipation.

            "Fire."

            _Die, motherfucker._

            Another huge ball of energy shot from the rail cannon, and as she watched, time seemed to slow down. The massive energy fireball directly connected with Nemesis, and in a blast of light, she watched in triumph. The impact hit Nemesis in such a force, and finally the S.T.A.R.S. killer caromed violently, exploding in a huge mass of burning flesh, muscle, sinew, bone, and dark purple viscous goo. All this happened in just a couple of seconds, but it seemed like an eternity. A second later, she heard a beep from the rail cannon.

            "Rail cannon…overheated. Entering…cool down mode." Steam rose from the cannon, as if it was exhausted. Next to her, the door beeped, and she heard the sound of a lock being released. Rising to her feet, she began to open the door—

            --when she heard the low growl.

            _Oh, no. No! No! No! Why won't you DIE?!!!_

            She slowly walked towards the gap created by the cannon, and saw a burned, very weak Nemesis, its body reduced to a small blob, swimming in its own precious goo. 

            "You…" she spoke to the dying Tyrant. Before she could continue, he shot out another stream of poison. Quickly dodging, she found a Magnum on the ground next to one of the dead soldiers, and walked slowly towards the enfeebled creature. She fired one powerful round, and it seemed to have cried out in pain. Her will resolute, she fired another. And another. Finally she stood over the fallen B.O.W. 

            "You want stars?" Jill said triumphantly. "I'll give you stars!" She fired the last three bullets at him, his heart finally stopped moving. The still creature was dead, lying in its own pool of "blood."

            Accomplished, she looked at her radar. The word "warning" was now flashing on the screen, and judging by the blip, she had maybe another couple of minutes. Racing for her life, she exited through the door onto an elevator. Hitting the down button, it led her back outside to a junkyard, where she heard the sound of Carlos.

            "Over here!" He was waving frantically in front of the helicopter. Jill ran to the chopper, feeling relieved. Quickly they boarded. When she boarded the chopper, she recognized the pilot instantly.

            "Barry?" Jill said in surprise.

            "Hold on!" Barry said, and with a sudden jerk, the chopper flew into the air. Looking outside, she could see the first rays of sunlight as the day was breaking. The scene seemed so wrong—a beautiful sunrise shining on a city about to be destroyed. How ironic. After a minute in the air, Jill saw a projectile coming in, headed for the city. 

            "It's here…" Jill said softly, watching in horror as the missile bore down on the city's center. 

            _This can't be happening…_

            When the missile hit, the sky filled with a bright orange light, accompanied by a terrific explosion. Within seconds a mushroom cloud had formed over the city, and the explosion was spreading out in a perfect circle from the impact site, obliterating everything in its path. Bodies of zombies were hurled into the air, incinerating immediately. The Raccoon City Police Department was leveled, the clock tower destroyed…nothing was spared. The shock wave of the blast was heading quickly for the chopper.

            "Barry!" Jill screamed and clutched Carlos.

            "Hang on tight!" Barry ordered. The chopper suddenly reeled forward, and shook violently, sending Jill and Carlos into the chopper wall. Two seconds later, all was fine. Looking out the window, all she saw was a huge cloud of billowing black smoke…nothing else. Raccoon City had been literally wiped off the map. Umbrella had destroyed their evidence. 

            Carlos looked at Jill. "We made it."

            Jill slumped back down. "All those lives…innocent lives…gone. Men, women, children…massacred…why did we get out alive?" Jill leaned over to Carlos and embraced him for a long time. The helicopter flew away, away from the dead city, away from the obliterated necropolis. It kept flying toward the sunrise. A new day had begun.

            _That's it. They've gone too far!_

_                                                *                      *                      *_

            Located in an abandoned Umbrella radio transmission building a safe distance away from town, he was busy furiously trying to find a good reception, an available radio frequency from which he could hopefully locate his comrades. He had found this building partially out of luck, partially out of knowledge. He had heard about it from someone at headquarters, and from their description, the radio building was no longer used by Umbrella—it was abandoned a while ago when they had no longer had need for it. Finding it proved to be the challenge. From Umbrella's predictability, he made an educated guess as to where it could be—along one of the main roads leading to the city. When all hell broke loose and they were forced to disband, he ran headstrong into the fray, determined to make it out of the falling city alive—if not for himself, but for one other person.

            _Forgive me…I'm sorry it came down to this…_

            Using the marksmanship he had, he found an abandoned car located on some street, the driver's side door wide open. On the ground below, the dried stain of blood stretched for a length beginning from the driver's exit to obscurity, suggesting that the driver was perhaps taken by one of the virus carriers, dragged to his or her untimely death. His suspicion was confirmed when he saw the keys still in the ignition. He couldn't feel remorse now, not yet. He still had to escape the city first. Turning the key, the motor roared to life, and in one swift motion, placed the car in drive and slammed the gas as hard as he could. As he accelerated, faster and faster, the buildings and few lights flew by in a blur, and it was so until he left city limits. He did not slow down for anyone, not even possible police. There was no reason why he should—most of the precinct's officers had died, and maybe a handful, if that, actually managed to survive the survival horror. 

Out on the lonely road, he remembered about the abandoned radio communications building, and slowed down his speed, hoping he didn't already pass it in his urgency to get out of the city. As a result of the night sky, the only lights visible were those illuminating the road, so he tried to help matters by turning on his hi-beams.

He drove on for a few more miles, until he saw what could have been a gate on the other side of the road, to his left. He had driven past it before he realized what it could have been. He slammed the brakes, the sounds of screeching tires cutting through the silence of the abandoned road, the smell of burning rubber filling the car. Putting the car in reverse, he backed up in order to get a closer look. It was a metal gate, its structure worn down by the weather as the metal was almost completely covered by rust. On the gate, there was a series of three combination locks attached to a chain wrapped around the catch mechanism. Looking beyond, he made out a dark silhouette of a possible building. 

_Won't hurt to try…but I better hide this first. _

In case Umbrella had any soldiers or anything non-human running around, he wanted an escape. Slamming the car into drive, he veered onto the grassy median and pulled out on the other side of the highway, spinning around, car now facing in the direction of Raccoon City. He drove a little ways toward the city, maybe about a half mile away from the possible building. Killing the motor and all lights, he stepped out of the car, his gun drawn, anticipating the worst, ready to shoot anything that so much as moved. Ten minutes later, he arrived back at his destination, noticing first a high barbed-wire fence, making it impossible for him to climb, that surrounded this building. His only means of entry would be through the gate. He gave a swift kick to the gate, but the metal held. He tried kicking the locks, but they also held. 

_Fine. Be like that._

Quickly he fired three bullets in succession, shattering the combo locks on impact. The chain rattled noisily to the black top below. As if scripted, the gate opened slightly.

"Why, that's so kind of you to let me in," he said in mock courtesy, pushing the gate open. In the dim streetlight, his eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness around him. Straight ahead, he could make out the detail of a glass paned door. Moving slowly toward the entrance, he turned the handle only for it to be locked. 

_Typical…_

With one quick motion of his leg, he kicked the glass, shattering it easily on impact. The sounds of breaking glass seemed amplified in this unusual silence, coming across as painstakingly loud. With his free hand, he easily found the lock and released it. Now he stepped inside the decaying edifice, the sounds of crunching glass beneath his boots filled the passageway throughout. Pulling out his lighter, he hoped the dim firelight would provide enough ambience to make sure he was in the place he thought he was. To his left, he noticed a stairwell leading down. Deciding to check that out later, he continued. Looking along the walls for any sign of evidence, he slowly made his way down the hall, scrutinizing the area very carefully for anything amiss. His heart quickening as he headed deeper into unfamiliar territory, he finally saw what he was looking for—the all-too-familiar logo of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, Inc—on the door just a few feet in front of him. He breathed a sigh of relief, and moved in closer to see the words on the metal door. 

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, Inc. Radio Communications Building #0137

He'd found it, all right. And he almost missed it. His heart beginning to quicken once again, he killed the lighter and he slowly opened the door, expecting a decaying zombie to burst out from the darkness. With his gun ready, he barged in and—

--nothing. The same unusual eerie silence was prevalent throughout. His body in a sweat, he let out another sigh of relief and lowered the gun. Once again, he flicked the lighter in an attempt to reorient himself. He had stepped into a fairly large room, and quickly noticed the room was lined with radio equipment—soundboards, headsets, receivers, monitors, the whole getup. There was a few windows in the enclosed space, places to look to the outside world. The room looked like a mess—strewn papers everywhere, a few overturned chairs, headsets dangling from their respective radio terminals. It looked like whoever was here last wanted to get out in a hurry. Next to the door he came in from, there was a light switch. Hoping against hope, he flicked the switch. To his surprise, a couple of florescent bulbs flickered to life, filling the room with an adequate enough white light, enough to see everything, anyway. Placing the gun back in the holster, he extinguished the small lighter flame and walked around the room, looking for anything suspicious. He took a look at some of the papers lying around, and saw nothing useful, just some computer data, random strings of letters and numbers. His eye caught interest at a sheet of paper that had someone's handwriting on it. Examining the writing style, he noticed that whoever it was, they were in a hurry. On it, he could make out these words:

_Workings of man set to ply out historical life_

_Re-regaining the flower of the fruit of his tree_

_All awakening, all restoring you_

_Workings of man crying out from the fire set aflame_

_By his blindness to see that the warmth of his being_

_His promise for his seeing, his reaching so clearly_

_Workings of man driven far from the path_

_Re-released in inhibitions_

_So that all is left for you,_

_All is left for you, _

_All is left for you,_

_All is left for you, now._

For some reason, the verses he recognized held a sort of familiarity. He took the paper and folded it into his pocket. His mind decided that the room was, in fact, safe, so he moved on to his next thing to do…try to establish radio contact. He sat down in a chair to the closest terminal by the closest window, and took a look at the setup. He looked out the window to see the night sky beginning to fade away, the horizon slowly becoming a lighter shade of blue. Dawn would be here soon. Looking down at the control panel, he noticed that for the most part, the controls looked fairly obvious—tuner, talk, graphic equalizer, volume, etc. Placing a headset to his head, he pushed what seemed to be the power button—a noticeable red button—and his ears filled with the sounds of radio static.

_Good. At least the radio equipment still works. Maybe I can actually establish contact._

He turned the black tuning dial to some of the frequencies used back in the precinct, the familiar frequencies used to intercept transmissions from aircraft. With every notch of the dial, he got static. Finding the most common aircraft frequency, he could hear the squelching sounds of the static, possibly indicating that it was an active channel. He picked up the receiver and pressed the button to talk.

                                    *                      *                      *

"Hello. Hello? Can anyone hear this transmission? If anyone can hear me, please respond!" He waited a few seconds for a response. Nothing but radio silence was returned. Trying again, he spoke into the receiver.

"Hello? Hello? Can anyone read me? If there is anyone that can hear this transmission, please respond immediately. Is anyone there? What's going on? Respond!" As if on cue, suddenly a male voice came over the radio, his voice crisp and clear as the man conveyed a message. 

"Attention. The Raccoon City project has been abandoned. Political maneuvering to delay federal plans has failed. Missiles will be launched at daybreak. All remaining supervisors evacuate immediately. This message is being broadcast on all available channels and will repeat again in 5 minutes."

_No…no. They can't do that…would Umbrella resort to such drastic measures to cover their tracks? To destroy the city…but that means…they still could be in the city!_

He looked at his watch, and took a guess that dawn would arrive in about half an hour. 

_I have to find them now!_ Immediately he went to work. He knew the exact frequency to turn to.

He kept at this for a few minutes, moving forward along the dial one frequency at a time. The little digital screen display slowly climbed up and down as he moved the dial back and forth between familiar frequencies. 

_Come on, I know you're there. Respond._

"Can anyone hear me? Can anyone read me? Someone, anyone, please respond immediately!" Suddenly he heard a voice crackle through the static.

"Chris, is that you?" said a deep husky voice.

"Barry? Barry, it's me, Chris! Thank the gods you're still alive!" Feelings of relief and elation swept through him.

"I have to say the same for you," he said, his voice crackly over the airwaves. "What's your current location?"

"I'm located at an abandoned Umbrella radio communications facility about 15 miles out of town. Where the hell are you?"

Barry chuckled. "I'm flying a helicopter around the city, looking for any survivors. It is a nightmare down here. Glad to see you made it out okay. I got a distress call from someone. From the quick message, this person said he was located just outside the warehouse, an Umbrella lab close to Raccoon Park. I'm actually on my way there now." 

Chris felt a sense of urgency welling up in him. "Barry, you better make it quick. The city is about to become ground zero. Umbrella has all intentions of wiping out their handiwork. You probably have no more than 20 minutes."

"Yeah, I know," Barry began. "I heard the same message you did. Listen, keep it here and I'll get back to you soon."

"Okay, friend. By all means, don't die on me now," Chris said firmly, as if giving a command.

"I have no intention of dying. Over and out," With that, Chris was once again plunged back into the realm of radio silence, and as he looked down at his watch, he noticed the sky slowly becoming lighter. Time was running out, fast.

Author's Note: Damn…I never knew I could write this fast. I amaze myself. Anyway, if you like it thus far (or don't like it for that matter), send me a review! Any and all feedback welcome. Soon I will post **Chapter Three: Time is of the Essence. **


	4. In the Fray

Note: So I kept the chapter title. Here it is!

**Chapter Three: Time is of the Essence**

            After a few minutes had passed between Barry and Chris' talk over the radio, the soundboard emitted a series of warning beeps, and suddenly the digital numbers on the small screen changed from a green color to red, the display going from radio frequency to a countdown timer, starting the countdown from fifteen minutes.  

            "Shit," he said to himself, becoming furious.

            _So they really are going to destroy the city. _They're actually stooping this low…__

            Quickly the older Redfield took the receiver and spoke.

            "Barry? Barry, are you there? It's Chris, over," he said, regarding radio protocol. 

            "Go ahead, Chris," came the voice of Barry.

            "Just letting you know, you have fifteen minutes to get out of there," he warned.

            "Damn. Those bastards are actually going to blow up the city…all right. Thanks, Chris. Over and out." 

            "Roger that," Chris said, and put down the receiver. While in radio static, he heard the familiar male's message once again, and decided to check some other frequencies. Maybe he'd pick up some top Umbrella information. He didn't have to go very far up the dial, for he heard yet another voice come over the air.

            "…safely managed to escape the city with my objectives completed, sir," said a voice. From what Chris heard, the voice had a clear Russian accent. 

            "All the combat data collected?" Another voice asked, his voice deep and having an enigmatic tone. 

            "Affirmative. As expected, sir, there were a few…incidents. However, they were dealt with as according to plan, and nothing went wrong," the Russian said.  

            "As for the Nemesis? Did it accomplish what it was supposed to?" asked the other.

            "You mean dispose of the remaining troublesome S.T.A.R.S.?"

            Chris listened intently. An unnatural pause intervened.    

"I have reasonable certainty. I don't think they lasted against the Nemesis, but if they managed to dodge him thus far, they won't survive the incoming missile," the Russian said affirmatively. 

            "Excellent. You have done well. I trust that you're on the escape chopper now?" the superior said.

            "Yes, sir. I am heading for the rendezvous point now," the Russian replied. "I will report back when I arrive at the destination." 

            "Very good. I expect a full report from you," the superior said.

            "Of course. Over and out," the Russian signed off. A click was heard, and that was the end of that. Static returned to the air. 

            Twenty minutes remained. Chris returned to Barry's frequency and waited. He could do nothing except for sit there and wait, wait for a voice, something. He stared blankly at the time. In the process, he once again heard the recording message telling the Umbrella supervisors to evacuate. Ten minutes left to destruction. 

            Taking off the headset in order to stretch, Chris stood up from his seat and stretched. He looked out the window, looked at the brightening sky, and suddenly he could make out a sound, at first sounding like an aircraft flying overhead. Whatever it was, it was moving toward him. Trying to look up through the window proved to be futile, so Chris ran out the door he came in, out the broken front door, and looked up to find the source of the sound, the sound getting increasingly louder. To his left, towards the brightening horizon, he finally saw it, and his heart sank. Flying toward him, moving at a quick speed, was the grim reaper of Raccoon City. He could see the smoke trailing behind the incoming projectile, and as he watched it fly overhead, so did the feeling of despair increase. It continued its projected path toward the fallen city with the same steadfast flight pattern, as if it was on a death march. 

            _It really is a reality…_

            Fading into a tiny speck in the sky, he headed back into the edifice, and saw the time left. Seven minutes. Seven minutes before an explosion leveled the city. Momentarily fumbling with the headset, he managed to get a grip and placed it to his head. Snatching the receiver, he pressed the talk button.

            "Barry! Barry, come in!" Chris yelled into the receiver.

            "Chris! What is it?" Barry asked, surprised by the loudness of Chris' voice.

            "I just saw the missile fly over me! It's actually happening. It's heading straight for the city, and you have less than 8 minutes to get out of there!" Chris warned. 

            "Relax, Chris. I'm at the source of the distress call…apparently a member of Umbrella's military mercenary squad made the call. Name's Carlos Oliviera. We're at the warehouse near the lab, but I am waiting for one more, according to him. Jill's on her way out!" 

            Chris' face suddenly registered surprise. "Jill's alive?" He asked, his voice a mix of surprise and anticipation.

            "According to Carlos, she is. She's on her way here, but if she doesn't come, I will have no choice but to pull out of here. How long do I have?"

            Chris looked at the flashing red countdown timer. "Seven minutes. That's all you've got."

            "Seven minutes…" A slight pause was heard, probably Barry thinking about his fading options. "It's gonna be a close call, whatever gets done. Thanks for the update." 

            "Keep me posted." Chris said, his voice firm and resolute.

            "Will do. I'll get out of this one. I've been in worse." He signed off, and Chris slowly placed the mouthpiece down. Looking at the falling numbers, his body began to experience feelings of worry. Barry would be cutting it very close, indeed. He had known Barry for a very long time, and Chris hated the possibility that he is risking his life, with certain death closing in at just over six minutes. But…that was part of the job. Even though he was no longer with the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S., he was still one at heart, and he was performing his duty. It came with the territory. Looking out the window once again, he could just see the top of the Sun appearing at the horizon. 

            _Such a cruel irony. How can there be a gorgeous sunrise when there's about to be a city destroyed? O cruel fate…_

            In the midst of his philosophical thought, an alarm cut through the radio static, loud and piercing. His eyes glared at the little countdown screen. Five minutes until impact. Five fucking minutes. Soon there would be nothing left, everything reduced to indiscernible rubble.

            _Over one hundred thousand innocent men, women, and children…all about to be wiped. What did they ever do to you, Umbrella, to deserve such a cruel fate?!  _

            "Nothing!" Chris yelled in fury, and pounded his fist on the control panel. His worry and fear gave way to anger. Umbrella had most of the population under its employ, but little would they realize they would meet such a horrific end. They didn't deserve to die…not like this…infected with a mutagenic virus against their own will, then to be destroyed as some plot to cover up Umbrella's actions. Not like this…

            Four minutes. Chris could feel the familiar feelings of worry and dread slowly creep back into his turbulent psyche.

            _Come on, Barry. How close are you going to get before you have no choice but to get out of there? You're freaking me out over here._

"Attention. The Raccoon City project has been abandoned. Political maneuvering to delay federal plans has failed. Missiles will be launched at daybreak. All remaining supervisors evacuate immediately. This message is being broadcast on all available channels and will repeat again in 5 minutes."

"No, you won't," Chris said to himself. "In 5 minutes, you will no longer be here. You'll be gone, just like all the others. Shut up. Shut up right now!" He pounded his fist against the control panel in anger again. Helpless to the situation, he sank his head into his hands, paused in thought. 

_Claire…please…please forgive me. I would have told you, told you everything, but there was no time. No time to explain the grave seriousness of it all. I had to keep you safe, safe from the resident evil. My only hope is that you did not head into the city after me, looking out for my safety and well-being—_

Another short siren sound filled the empty room. Three minutes.

_Damn that siren. Where was I? Oh, yes. If you did head into the city, my only hope for you, the only thing I can wish for is that you survived Umbrella's death maze alive. I apologize for not telling you earlier. Had I did, you would have stayed where you were, safe, secure, out of the range of the crazy madness that has come down to this, out of harm's way. Because of my idiotic neglect being so caught up in the swing of it all of telling you how bad the scope of the matter truly and really was, you put your life on the line to try to meet me, make sure I was doing okay. You walked into a world of unfamiliarity, and it is my only hope that the worst has spared you, and that you made it out of the city alive. We will see each other again, hopefully soon. That way we can end the worry for both of us. I blame myself for letting someone younger and with less experience in police activity go to Raccoon out of worry. Such is familial love. Please forgive me, Claire._

Two minutes.

_Barry, if you're trying to scare me, you're doing a damn good job of it!_

His palms began to become sweaty, the calloused skin slick from the ever increasing pile of stress. His heart began to quicken, seeming like it was pumping faster with each falling second. Time was his enemy now. Suddenly he heard a crackling sound on his headset, the static breaking. 

"Chris?" asked Barry's voice. "Chris, can you copy?"

He quickly grabbed the mouthpiece. "Barry! It's Chris! Glad to hear your voice, man!"

"I'm getting the hell out of here now. I've got Jill—" A blaring siren sounded on the control panel. One minute remained.

"—what was that?" Barry asked.

"You have one minute to clear the city," Chris said firmly. "The city goes in one minute."

"I've just left the ground. Both Carlos and Jill are here."

Fifty seconds.

"Excellent," Chris said quickly. "Can you get out of there in time?" He said, almost impatient.

"We'll see. I'm giving it everything's she got. It's gonna be close," Barry confirmed.

"A little too close for comfort," Chris said, his eyes unwavering from the diminishing timer. His heart was pounding now, and the sounds of his own frantic heart seemed to drown out the sound of Barry. 

Forty seconds.

"So far, so good. We just might make it." Chris could hear the faint voice of Jill in the background. "Hold on a sec."

The timer was now beeping every second as the time continued to fall. 

_Time and tide waits for no one…_

Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds until destruction. 

"Thirty seconds, Barry," Chris warned.

"Copy that."

"It's here…" said Jill. 

"What?" Chris demanded.

"I see the missile," Barry said. "It's heading straight for the city center," He added, sounding defeated. 

Twenty. Twenty fucking seconds.

"Where are you? I'm coming there to land. This thing doesn't have too much fuel left."

"Follow the main highway. You'll see a car parked near a building. You can't miss it. Land right on the highway." 

"You got it," Barry confirmed.

Ten seconds until complete devastation.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

In six.

Suddenly the ground shook slightly where Chris was sitting. He ripped off his headset and bolted for the exit. When he managed to get outside, the cool morning air hitting his sweaty skin, he looked in the direction of Raccoon City—

--when a sudden bright white light filled the sky, covering everything. A tremendous explosion filled the air, the sound of several hundred tons of TNT loud, even from fifteen miles away from city limits. Chris stared in horror at the cloud that appeared almost of nowhere, enveloping the city in a blanket of death, smoke, and radiation.

_NO! God damn it, no!_

His heart felt crushed, and seeing his city reduced to dust, the city that he and others tried so hard to protect, enveloped him with feelings of remorse, accompanied with bitter hatred and regret. He must have stood there for a minute or so, watching in blank horror as the reality slowly sank in. Raccoon City was gone. Suddenly he realized that Barry was flying out of the city.

"Oh, shit. Barry!" He cursed himself aloud as he ran back, sprinting almost, to the radio room. He picked up the headset dangling by its cord and put it on his head. All that he heard was silence. Not static, no radio noise, but silence. A panic began to grip him. He turned the tuning dial up and down, running through all frequencies. 

Silence.

An eerie quiet.

"Barry?" He asked, his voice wavering.

He turned the dial one full revolution. 

Total silence.

The timer read zero.

All radio contact was dead.__

A/N: I am so shocked that I am able to put up four chapters in 4 days. This is damn amazing. I have never typed this quick in my life. Like it? Review the story! Soon, probably in another day or two, I probably will have posted **Chapter Four: In the Fray.** Again, this chapter title is tentative, and may change.  


	5. A World Below

So I changed the chapter title after all. Enjoy.

**Chapter Four: A World Below**

"_Eyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" He screamed in total fury, driving his boot into the control panel. Pulling it back quickly, he hurled with all his power his boot into the structure, connecting with the sounds of plastic breaking and the pounding of metal. _

            "Fuck…_you!" the former S.T.A.R.S. officer yelled before he gave another swift kick to the panel, this time sending sparks flying, the sounds of destruction a music to his ears. Losing all sense of reason, he stood there kicking the dead panel, sending up a shower of sparks with each blow. Pissed was an understatement. Livid was more accurate. Fearing the worst, the possible notion that Barry may have overdone it and went down with the city upon escaping, sent rage coursing through his veins. After a few minutes of anger release, he slumped back into a chair, looking at the smoking soundboard. It, like the city, was dead. At the initial detonation, radio contact was lost on all channels. Nothing was getting in or out of the city. Nothing __would be getting in or out of the city, save for maybe Umbrella's cleanup crews, probably already working as we speak. _

            He leaned forward, his tired head sinking into his hands.

            _Fuck…_

            He suddenly felt an emptiness in him, a huge void in his heart. The immediate, untimely, and sudden death of over one hundred thousand people weighed heavily on his mind. Suddenly the lights went out, leaving Chris in darkness, except for the slowly increasing daylight filtering in from the outside world. 

            "Are we all okay?" Barry's voice boomed over the noise of the whirring helicopter blades. 

            "Yeah, just shaken," Jill answered, her voice tired.

            "All fine here," the mercenary said, resting his head on Jill's shoulder. The copter flew just directly over the lonely road. A road that was once the main artery leading to and from Raccoon City was now desolate, not a car to be seen. A once busy highway was empty, devoid of all life. Straight ahead on the horizon, the Sun was almost fully visible, the warm sunlight shining through the helicopter, warm on Jill's face. Her body was aching, feeling like every muscle, joint, and bone was aching. The sudden adrenaline drop was followed by an immense urge to just sleep, sleep, sleep and not wake up for a very long time. She wanted to put all of this behind her for good—the Spencer estate, the events following, being chased all around by several of Umbrella's freaks (human and B.O.W. alike), the complete totaling of her once proud city. Every cell in her body screamed for a recharge. She leaned her head back on the seat, and as uncomfortable as it was, she didn't care—she could fall asleep on anything at this point. The warm soft glow of the sunlight only helped to tire her more, and as she stared up at the pale gray metallic ceiling, she felt her eyelids begin to get heavy and her vision began to blur.

            _Must stay awake…_

_            But you know you want to._

_            But…_

_            No buts…give in to what your body is asking for._

_            Okay, fine. You win._

_            Told you I would. _

_            But do I really have to?_

_            Yes. You're needing it._

_            If you say so. Nighty night._

_            Nighty night._

She was rudely awakened out of the brief nap when the helicopter suddenly pitched downward, indicating a drop in altitude. 

            "What? Where am I?" Jill said frantically before realizing she was still on the helicopter.

            Barry chuckled. "Still safe with me. I found the spot, and I'm gonna land this bird."

            "Great." She looked to her left only to be greeted by a sleeping Carlos, his head resting softly on her bare shoulder, breathing softly. 

            _Aww…_

She nudged him ever so gently, and he finally stirred. He moved his head slowly, his mind still sleeping. He turned his head slowly so that his brown eyes met hers, his eyes bloodshot from a combination of stress, fatigue, and sleep deprivation.

"Where are we?" He said drowsily.

Jill chuckled. "We're about to land. You're going to meet another one of our comrades."

"Cool." He yawned. 

                                    *                      *                      *

At the sound of an approaching helicopter, he lifted his head out of his hands, a feeling of hope and possibility taking the place of despair, failure, and general hopelessness. 

_Barry?_

Slowly rising, he shielded his eyes from the sudden flash of blinding sunlight. Moving out of the direct sunlight, he rubbed his eyes and then walked out of the dead radio communication room. The sound of spinning chopper blades grew louder. Once again, he stepped over the broken glass. Once again he opened the door to the surreal outside world. Chris was hit with a wave of spinning air, and squinting his eyes, he saw the chopper approaching the empty highway, coming in for a landing. 

_Thank you. Thank you, God. _

Dirt was flying up all around Chris, swirling, moving in a large circle parallel to the spinning helicopter blades. Shielding his face from any sort of flying debris, he watched as the gray aircraft slowly reduced its speed, its altitude dropping. Softly, Barry landed the bird, and killed the engines. As quickly as it came, the spinning winds began to decline, and as Chris lowered his arm he saw the burly frame of Barry Burton emerge from the pilot's seat. 

"Chris," Barry said, walking toward the relieved Redfield. "Glad to see you're alive," he said, before the two embraced.

"I'd thought I'd never be so glad to see you," a female voice said. Looking up, Chris saw a sexy looking Jill hopping out of the cockpit, her blue tube top and black miniskirt stained with dirt. She took her gray sweater that she had tied around her waist and quickly put it on. She walked quickly over to Chris and hugged him, and felt a wave of relief wash over her, the feeling of a warm body confirming that she was alive, and there was at least one other survivor, one more person that could say "fuck you" to Umbrella. 

"I'm so glad you're here," Chris said, the words finally coming to him. He looked at the cockpit to see one more person climb out, this person unfamiliar to him. This person walked toward the group of three S.T.A.R.S, and Chris noted the logo of Umbrella on his vest. 

"Carlos Oliviera, former member of the U.B.C.S." he said, Chris noticing the slight Hispanic accent. He held out his hand and Chris responded with a warm handshake.

"Chris Redfield, Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S." He smiled. 

Barry gave a look of curiosity. "U.B.C.S.?"

"Umbrella Bio-Hazard Countermeasure Service, hired mercenaries and ex-military." Carlos said. 

"Fancy title for a group of guinea pigs for Umbrella's research," Chris said snidely.

"You could say that," Carlos said, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"Amazing what Umbrella will do for its cause," Barry said. 

"I had no idea what I was in for," Carlos began. "I was lured to this by the promise of a significant pay. That's a mercenary's life." Carlos sighed. "It's a pleasure to meet the two of you." 

"Shall we go inside?" Chris said after a few seconds of awkward silence. 

"Yeah," Jill said, obviously interested. I'm interested to see what they left here." 

"I was surprised myself. The outside of the building looks run down, but mostly everything is intact. Whoever was in here left recently."

"Let's go," Barry said. The four of them walked to the entrance, and Jill noticed the broken glass door lying in shards everywhere.

"What happened here?" 

"Oh. My doing," Chris said casually. "I couldn't unlock the door from the inside, could I?" Carlos laughed. 

"A bullet would have done the same thing," Carlos added.

"I was angry. Besides, a bullet takes all the fun out of it." Hearing the sounds of crunching glass beneath the four survivors, Chris led them to the radio communications room. They were greeted by a display of sparks from the busted soundboard, still releasing a small stream of smoke.  Over by Barry's feet was a demolished headset, looking like it took a few bullets.  

"Let me guess. Your doing?" Barry asked jokingly. Chris grinned. 

"This place is a mess," Carlos was the first to speak, noticing the papers strewn about carelessly. 

"You were right, Chris," Barry said. "Whoever was here wanted out in a hurry."

"That's all this room was for? Radio communication?" Jill asked.

"Apparently so. However, I didn't get to check out what's below this building," Chris replied.

"Below?" Barry asked, intrigued. 

"Yeah. There's a staircase heading to a room below just after the entrance."  
            "I don't know if I want to know," Jill said skeptically. After all that the four went through, they didn't want to encounter any more of Umbrella's creations. Enough was enough.

Chris immediately knew what Jill was thinking, and he agreed. "But why would Umbrella have some zombies here? Or even a lab? On a highway such as this?"

"You never know with Umbrella," Barry answered. "Let's check it out."

The four of them left in single file, Chris leading the way. Looking down the staircase, he saw darkness. Next to the stairwell, he saw a light switch, and flicked it. Nothing. 

"Be careful. It's dark down here. I'll lead." Chris pulled out his lighter and flipped back the top, igniting a small bright orange flame. Slowly, he proceeded cautiously down the stairwell, his heart beating faster. Still in single file, the other three followed the guiding light of Chris' lighter. When they reached bottom, they met with a door sporting the Umbrella logo. He passed the firelight over the logo to see what the room was. He found no words—just the logo. With his one free hand, he slowly reached for the Beretta, the S.T.A.R.S. standard issue firearm. Behind him, he could hear the cocking sounds of three other guns: Jill's Beretta, Barry's Colt Python, and Carlos' semi-automatic. Quietly, he closed the lighter, smothering the flame. They were left in a surrounding darkness once again. With his gun raised, he placed one sweaty hand on the doorknob. Chris turned to the three behind him.

"Ready?" he asked in a hushed whisper. The three responded with quick nods. Suddenly in one quick movement, he opened the door and the three rushed into the new room, guns drawn and ready to fire at anything that moved—

--when suddenly the room filled with white florescent light. The lighting system  was designed to turn on when a motion detector sensed someone's entry into the room. Breathing heavily, the four looked at the new room. It was a small enclosure, the walls still looking that drab white. Set up along the walls were several computer terminals. All the monitors were broken, apparently filled with bullet holes. However, one of them was on and working. In the center of the room stood an oval table, with several office chairs around it. Coffee mugs sat on the table, and the floor was similar to the radio room, papers strewn about everywhere. On the table stood a single sheet of paper. Directly ahead of them stood another door. To its right was a closet, its handles bound with chain and lock. To its left, another closet, but apparently unlocked.

"Guns down, everyone," Chris ordered. "Nothing happening here. We should spread out." Breathing a collective sigh of relief, the four brought their weapons down and spread out to search the room. Jill went for the locked closet, her curiosity peaked as she wanted to know what lay beyond the confines of the doors. Barry headed for the unlocked closet. Carlos checked the room further. He looked at the mugs on the table, noticing its contents, mostly coffee. Placing a finger in, he picked up a clue.

_It's still a little warm. Whatever happened here, it took place very recently._

"Hey, guys?"

"Yeah, Carlos?" came Barry from the other end of the room.

"Whatever happened here only took place a little while ago, my guess maybe an hour or two ago at best."

"What brings you to that idea?" Jill asked.

"Coffee's still warm," Carlos answered casually.

"Aha," Barry said, opening the unlocked closet. 

"Anything interesting?" Chris asked.

"An envelope. That's it," Barry said, sounding a little disappointed. He pulled out an 8x11 yellow envelope, opened the clasp and peered inside. He pulled out a sheet of paper. He analyzed it for a few seconds.

"Hmm…something scared whoever was here to make them leave quickly," Carlos asked.

"And now we know what it is," Barry said.

"What?" Carlos asked.

"Apparently the people here got an advanced warning on the imminent destruction of the city. They were advised to get out quick, for there could have been a possibility that they could have been in the blast zone."

"Seems as good a reason to get out quick. Luckily this place wasn't in the blast zone, otherwise we wouldn't be here. Anything else?" Chris asked. 

"Yeah, one other piece of paper which gives a password to the computer system. You might make some use out of it." Barry gave Chris the paper. Taking a look, the paper just a few typed lines.

_To all supervisors:_

_            The password has been changed for entry into "Classified Info." The new password is "Marcus."_

 Chris took a seat at the computer terminal, only to find a blank white screen with some words in black.

**Umbrella Pharmaceuticals Network Version 3.1**

**You are logged in as user: Ginovaef, Nicholai.**

**Select an option:**

**1) **Documents****

**2) **E-mail****

**3) **Umbrella Bio-Hazard Countermeasure Service****

**4) **Classified Info****

Chris pressed "4."    

**Please enter your password, Nicholai.**

Chris typed in "Marcus." He got a confirming sound. A new menu came up.

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals: Classified Info 

**User: Ginovaef, Nicholai.**

**Rank: Supervisor**

**Select your Classified file:**

**1) ****Operation Watchdog (NEW!)**

**2) ****Information on G-Virus**

**3) ****Treatment of B.O.W's**

The first choice seemed to peak Chris' interest more, so he typed in "1." In no time, the document "Operation Watchdog" appeared. And so he read:

To: All Supervisors

From: "Watchdog"

Subject: Operation Watchdog

In 2 days time, Operation Watchdog will proceed as planned. When we deploy the Umbrella Bio-Hazard Countermeasure Service squads into the Raccoon City area, the ten supervisors will be set up in ten locations in the city to report combat data to us. While the U.B.C.S. is, on the surface, an army designed to combat the humanoid results of the T-Virus, they are also experimental specimens. It is expected that many will die within the initial period of the attack, for the virus carriers outnumber the combined forces of the Raccoon City Police Department and the U.B.C.S. Since we know this, we want to take this opportunity to take live combat data. In the midst of the fray, we will also be releasing two of our Tyrant Class B.O.W's; one named Nemesis, and the other named "Mr. X." The function of these two B.O.W's are as follows: Nemesis is designed to search and destroy any of the remaining Special Tactics and Rescue Squad members we know are still alive: Barry Burton, Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, and Brad Vickers. If any of the supervisors see them, shoot them on sight. "Mr. X" has been created to find Dr. William Birkin's creation of the "G" virus, a virus yet untested by our scientists. Beware—both of these Tyrants are very dangerous and will kill. Tomorrow you shall attend a meeting on how to keep safe from the Tyrants. The ten supervisors will be placed in ten locations throughout the city. From these ten locations, we expect reports every hour from the time you confirm your arrival at said location. Locations of the ten supervisors:

1) Ted Martin, Detective Squad room, RPD East Wing

2) Janice Thomlinson—Underground Lab

3) Davis Chan—Sales Office

4) Nicholai Ginovaef—Clock Tower

5) Tyrell Patrick—Raccoon Hospital

6) Ken Franklin—Radio Room, Cemetery

7) Terrence Foster—Disposal Facility

8) Mitch Hirami—Clock Tower

9) Frank Dolan—Clock Tower

10) Brian Irons—Chief's Office, RPD

Each one of you will be given a special encryption code to make your reports from these locations. The encryption code is to ensure your identity and your current location. Some of you will have laptop status, meaning that you can send us your reports from laptops we provide, and you can send us your reports from anywhere in the city. The information you collect will be of the utmost importance, for as you know, we are looking for data on the T-Virus carriers (human and otherwise) and how they fare against trained soldiers, the real reason we are sending the U.B.C.S. into the combat zone. We are counting on you. This is classified, which means that if anyone else finds out about this exercise, shoot them on sight. You have 2 days to prepare. 

END OF MESSAGE

Transmission sent from Umbrella H.Q., Raccoon City branch. 

Outside, a helicopter was flying overhead. 

"Hey, guys…I think you should look at this," Chris said, pleased at his latest discovery. Jill had already managed to pick one of the two locks on the closet when she walked over to see what Chris had found, Barry and Carlos included. 

"More proof to see how warped and twisted Umbrella actually is," Chris said, a hint of disgust in his voice. As soon as Jill saw the screen, her eyes widened in surprise, as did Carlos. Both of them knew exactly what each other thought, and they silently exchanged looks. The twisted madman that almost killed them both was still running loose.

**User: Ginovaef, Nicholai.**

Carlos' mind instantly flashed back to the scene in the hospital, when he saw Nicholai shoot the officer in one of the basement labs, confirming his suspicion that Nicholai, in fact, was not the person that he presented himself as, a squad leader of the Umbrella Bio-Hazard Countermeasure Service, but a cold-hearted murderer bent on accomplishing his own objectives, whatever they happened to be. He remembered seeing the fallen soldier, blood coursing from the bullet wounds Nicholai inflicted, seeing the pained but determined expression as he sat in his own fluid; seeing Ken Franklin (Carlos didn't know his name) reaching into his vest and pulling out a grenade while Nicholai was pulling smooth-talk to Carlos, watching as he pulled the ring. He watched in open-mouthed horror as Franklin screamed the word, "_DIE!_" before the small lab exploded in a flash of blinding light, seeing Nicholai dive out of the closed window just as the light and explosion grew too bright to see.  

He shook his head quickly in an attempt to get the image out of his head. 

"Something wrong?" Barry asked.

"No…it's nothing," Carlos quickly replied. 

After a few minutes of silence while they read the classified message, Barry spoke up first. 

"Sick freaks," he said in disgust. 

"Sick is an understatement," Chris added. "Now we know this, but what do we do with it?"

"Probably nothing—" Jill said when she was abruptly cut off as all power suddenly went out. They were left in total darkness.

Alert, Carlos looked quickly around him. In the middle of the all-encompassing darkness, the familiar firelight of Chris' lighter appeared. 

"A blackout," Barry said. Stating the obvious was one of peculiar traits.

"Probably a blown fuse or the backup power finally gave out," Chris said. That idea was quickly dashed when suddenly the four of them heard an explosion coming from outside, and the first thought that came across Barry's mind was that the explosion was an ultimatum of sorts. Through the closed door they heard sounds of footsteps entering the building a floor up. Simultaneously, the four of them had guns drawn, locked and loaded, all of them aiming for the door. They could hear the sounds of footsteps overhead, hearing the faint sounds of voices as they moved quickly upstairs. Chris immediately put his lighter out, and aimed his Beretta at the closed door, ready to open fire on the first thing he saw.

            _Umbrella's come to finish the job at last. We're ready for you. You want a piece of us?_

The four heard the sounds of several sets of footsteps cautiously making their way down the stairs, about to enter the room. Then there was silence on both sides. A few seconds of tense quiet passed, when the door flew open, no sooner did the four see the tiny flashlight and the entrance was filled with a hail of gunfire, the four of them branching out in all directions. 

            _Aim for the head, aim for the head!_

Machine gun fire from the Umbrella soldiers, whom they could make out were masked, ripped into the computer terminals, sending showers of sparks through the room. The booming sound of Barry's Colt Python, the Magnum, almost drowned out everything else as parabellum rounds made contact with human flesh, sending down the enemy. Carlos, in a fit of either bravado, rage, or revenge ran headlong into the fray, screaming, his finger pressed firmly on the trigger, sending wave after wave of machine gun fire into the soft inner pulp of the bodies. More and more enemies came down the stairwell, releasing a maelstrom of gunfire in attempts to dispatch the survivors in the room. Jill dove underneath the oval table, now riddled with bullet holes as a bullet whizzed by her ear, and she felt the air move as the bullet just missed her. Quickly she ejected her empty clip, took a fresh one, slammed it home and continued her fire. It took maybe a total of a minute before someone, someone unknown, yelled for everyone to hold their fire. Suddenly everyone stopped, and once again a tense silence entered the room. The enemies had been mowed down. The room was filled with the acrid smell of sweat and gun smoke, the room in a hazy cloud from the multitude of gunfire. Chris rose from his kneeling position, and carefully walked toward the door, his gun still drawn. He bent down and picked up a flashlight that was dropped by one of the enemy forces. Stepping over one of the bodies that now lined the tile floor, he was stopped when he heard a moan from the enemy below. Chris quickly bent down and grabbed the soldier by the chest of his uniform, ripping his mask off him. His forehead was completely covered in blood, running in a path down his cheeks. 

"_Who are you?" Chris demanded angrily through gritted teeth._

No response.

"_Who are you, damn it?!" Chris yelled. The soldier flashed him a grin, exposing his bloody teeth. Chris held the gun to the soldier's head._

"_If you don't tell me what I want to know, then God help me—" Chris was stopped when he heard a sound of laughter coming from the soldier, followed by a cough of blood. The laugh started low, then got increasingly louder._

"You're…dead," the soldier said, raspy, letting out triumphant laughter. In a few seconds, Chris knew why when he heard the faint beeping sounds. The soldier held a countdown timer in his hand. He looked at the red numbers falling, twenty seconds left, and suddenly he knew what they had done.

_Oh, God, no—_

_--they set up charges—_

_--going to explode—_

His mind returned to reality when he heard Jill's voice, asking, "What?"

Ten seconds to detonation.

"Everyone, _get the fuck of here NOW!"_

A/N: Now I'm running out of creativity…oh, no! The road has become a little harder. However, I'm plunking away at **Chapter Five.** I have no title yet, but it's in the works. As always, leave me a review!


	6. Briefing

**Chapter Five: Briefing**

            No sooner did Jill make it out of the doomed building did the charges set up by Umbrella activated. The charges made a short activation beep, and suddenly the building went up in a dazzling orange fireball accompanied by a explosive burst of destructive sound. Just like a scene from an action movie, the four of them dove into the air, feeling a sudden surge of hot air as the satchel charges released their destructive power. The four hit the ground, and the four looked on as the last of the terrific ball of orange and yellow fire faded into obscurity, quickly becoming replaced with thick black smoke, a sinister reminder of the fate of Raccoon City just a little while ago. Chunks of various things rained down from the sky on the group; bits of radio equipment, computer motherboards and intricate circuitry, chunks of the building itself—drywall, stone, cement, twisted hot metal, foundation. Bodies and dismembered body parts flew out in all directions, splayed about the four. A soldier's head landed next to Jill, the detached part hitting the dirt with a sick splat before making an awkward bounce onto the highway, where the skull shattered. Arms, legs, and torsos lay everywhere in a disgusting spread everywhere, all burnt beyond recognition. Jill's stomach finally got the better of her, and in one quick motion, her stomach overturned. Turning her head quickly she heaved up wave after wave after wave of vomit and bile. Even though she was absorbed in the fetid smell of carrion, disease, and decayed flesh throughout her romp through the former Raccoon City, the sight was finally too much. 

            The four of them just sat there, sitting on the cool earth, staring at the rise of the black, eternal black smoke. No one said a word to each other. There was nothing that could be said. The group was less than ten seconds from joining the ranks of the mutilated bodies, building pieces and circuitry. Running as fast as they possibly could, they managed to escape, narrowly dodging death's door one more time. Once more, Umbrella failed to kill off the ones who knew, knew everything. 

            After a few minutes, the group rose to their feet, still silent. Chris looked toward the direction of the city, the smoke hanging like a veil of death overhead, as if God was placing the city in a body bag. Because of the flatness of the land, Chris could see the car he left a half mile down. His plan had worked. The car wasn't destroyed. 

            Finally, Chris broke the silence. "Let's go," he said quietly. 

            They sat in a small, but comfortable living room. Surrounded on all sides were seemingly endless acres of deciduous and coniferous forest. The cold arctic chill hung in the air outside, but it was nice and warm inside. The room had a couch, accompanied by three chairs. In the center of this was a small coffee table, and on it were five mugs, each filled with their own hot beverage of choice, be it hot chocolate, coffee, or tea. On the couch sat Rebecca Chambers and Claire Redfield, while in the three chairs surrounding the table sat Leon Kennedy, John Andrews, and David Trapp. It was early in the morning, and Sherry Birkin, daughter of the late Annette and William Birkin, was upstairs sleeping. When they arrived at David's home in Exeter, Maine, the exhausted three survivors from the Raccoon City incident were given proper care, cleaned, dressed, and plenty of sleep. David had arranged for a little pow-wow the next day, and so here they were, waiting to hear why David had called them here. It was two days after their escape from Raccoon City. Yesterday the day was spent trying to establish contact with any of the remaining S.T.A.R.S. They met with little success, and now, as David was getting ready to speak, he looked at the group and had a solemn look on his face. The others knew that something was up, something bad had happened.

            After a sip of his coffee, he looked at the other four, their eyes locked in intent, anticipation of the bad news he was about to impart to them. 

            "I'm going to get straight to the point," David said, his voice trying not to waver.  "Umbrella's political maneuvering in the U.S. Senate has failed. As a result, the Raccoon City project had been abandoned."

            Leon stared intently at David. "What are you trying to say, David?"

            "Raccoon City was destroyed at daybreak this morning," he said quietly. "The U.S. Army launched a missile into the city and completely wiped it off the map."

            Claire shut her eyes as feelings of grief and loss swept the group. Suddenly there was this bad karma that filled the room as each one took the shock of the situation in their own way. 

            "How many died?" Leon asked solemnly. 

            "Over 100,000," David answered. Claire felt a tear roll down her cheek. 

            "First they infect everyone, then they blow up the city to cover it up," Rebecca said. "Barbaric. Totally barbaric." 

            "Any survivors?" Claire asked through her controlled weeping. 

            "Very few," David replied. "But there's one bit of good news that came from this. Earlier this morning, I received a call from Barry Burton, and was greatly relieved when I was told that he and three others escaped before the explosion--Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield—"

            Claire opened her eyes in widened surprise. "Chris? My brother?"  She exclaimed, cutting David off.

            "Yes, your brother. Joining them is a soldier from one of Umbrella's mercenary force, the Umbrella Bio-Hazard Countermeasure Force." 

            Claire sighed in relief. 

            _Thank God, Chris. Thank God you escaped that nightmare. Thank you, God, for sparing his life. Don't worry, Chris. I will find you. _

            "What happened after?" John asked. 

            "From Barry's description, Chris had found some sort of radio tower from which he could talk to Barry as he flew Jill and the U.B.C.S. soldier out of there. They met up with Chris and did some investigating until some Umbrella soldiers came in and caused some trouble, causing the destruction of the radio facility. Luckily the four of them escaped in time, and then they left, heading for the closest town," David described. "They'll be heading to Paris, to infiltrate Umbrella Headquarters."

            _So that's where I must go then…_

"Which is our next move," David continued. "Luckily there are a couple of people in the Exeter S.T.A.R.S. who want to help us in our cause, and so I have arranged for one of our pilots to take us to Paris. From there, we will set up our plan of action, and assist the other group."

            "When do we do this?" asked Rebecca. 

            "In three days. I want to give Jill, Barry, Chris, and the mercenary a few days head start. I have already arranged this with our pilot. By then we should be ready to go."

            "What about Sherry?" Claire asked, her mind wondering where the orphaned Birkin fit into all this. 

            "I knew you were going to ask that," David said, a small grin playing across his face. "I have also managed to find some of the young girl's relatives in the outlying towns outside of Raccoon City. They were informed by Umbrella two days ago that both of Sherry's parents had died in 'a tragic accident' at the labs in Raccoon City. Her aunt, Kate, has offered to take Sherry in. I plan to take her to her aunt, located in the town of Arklay, about thirty miles from Raccoon City."

            "She'll be safe, then?" Leon quickly cut in, his voice authoritative. "She won't be placed into military custody or anything like that? This is Umbrella we're talking about. She _is the daughter of one of Umbrella's top scientists."_

            "I think Umbrella has better things to do than to track down little children," Rebecca chimed in. "They probably think she's dead."

            "I agree with Rebecca's theory," John added. "I don't think they'd go that far." 

            "I don't know…" Leon said, his voice trailing off. 

            Claire watched the group talk and discuss about their next plan of action. Meanwhile, her mind and thoughts were in a totally different place, as she thought about finding her brother. She hadn't heard from him in a couple of months, and to put it mildly, she was worried. She finally took matters into her own hands when she took her Harley and left the university she was attending, headed for Raccoon City, a 6 ½ hour drive. When she finally arrived at the dead city, she clawed her way to the precinct, and she remembered finding Chris' diary in the S.T.A.R.S. office. 

  _          I talked to the chief today once again, but he refused to listen to me. I know for certain that Umbrella conducted T-Virus research in that mansion. Anyone infected turns into a zombie. But the entire mansion went up in that explosion; along with any  incriminating evidence. Since Umbrella employs so many people in town, no one is willing to talk about the incident. It looks like I'm running out of options._

_            We've been receiving a lot of local reports about strange monsters appearing at random through out the city. This must be the work of Umbrella. With the help of Jill and Barry, I finally obtained information vital to this case. Umbrella has begun research on the new G-virus, a variation of the original T-Virus. Haven't they done enough damage already?! We talked it over, and have decided to fly to the main Umbrella HQ in __Europe_. I can't tell my sister about this trip because doing so could put her in danger.__

_Please forgive me Claire._

She knew he was heading to Europe. She felt that she needed some time, time back "home," her dorm back at university; time to relax, to think, before she would go to Europe. Alone. As much as she wanted to go to Europe now, she felt her own urges to see him would lead her into trouble. The idea of leaving this group, leaving David, Rebecca, John, and most importantly Leon and Sherry, began to brew in her jumbled mind. In her heart she believed that she didn't want to put anyone else in any more danger. She would leave tonight. She did some quick thinking—she had her wallet with her from when she left for Raccoon City. The contents of her wallet contained enough money for her to take a bus. If that failed, there was always the old hitchhiking idea. Either way, she knew her brother would want her safe at the university. Her mind made up, she decided she'd have to make her exit in the night. She didn't want to leave them, but she felt she had to. 

"…Claire? Claire?" The voice of Leon brought her back to reality.

"Huh? Oh…sorry. Lost my head for a sec," Claire replied, her face blushing from sudden embarrassment. "What were you saying?"

David chuckled. "I feel like I'm a professor at University and you're the sleepyhead pupil," he said, his British accent clear. "Anyway, I was asking you before you decided to doze off, would you like to accompany Sherry when I take her to her aunt in Arklay?" 

Claire's mind worked again.

_That would seriously cut down on travel time back to the university. And I get keep the stressed Sherry company for a little longer. _

"Yes. I think I should, seeing that I'm probably the closest thing she has to a mother figure at this point. I'd be glad too." Claire agreed.

"A fine decision. So that's settled then." David said. Claire heard the faint sounds of footsteps making their way down the stairs. A few moments later, a yawning Sherry walked into the room where the five were having their pow-wow. Her childlike innocence brought a calm amidst the tension and anxiety that filled the space. She didn't know what the fate of Raccoon City was, and it would be best if it was left at that. No need to add stress to what was already enough—after all, both her parents had very untimely died, one by mutating into a life form as a result of an untested virus, and one by being mutilated by said life form. She looked around to see the group staring at her, all with loving smiles on their faces.

"Morning," they all said in unison. 

"Good morning," the young Birkin said cheerfully. Sherry walked over to the couch where Claire and Leon were sitting, and sat herself next to Claire. Claire looked down at the smiling child, and she looked up at Claire, flashing her a toothy grin. 

_Aww…soon she'll be totally out of danger. Soon enough…_

                                    *                      *                      *

Sherry and Claire stood near the doorway of the small house. Both were waiting for David as he was making the last of phone conversation with Kate Birkin, Sherry's aunt. From the bits and pieces Claire was picking up of the conversation, it sounded like David was getting driving directions to Arklay, one of the closest towns to the former Raccoon City, even though the town was thirty miles away and wasn't in Umbrella's "jurisdiction," so to speak. Claire and Sherry were bundled up for the weather. The early autumn felt like the dead of winter here in Maine. The foliage of the deciduous trees was long gone, and now the only green life was from the conifers that stretched for seemingly endless miles. Finally, after possibly a slight eternity, Claire could hear the familiar sounds that accompanied end of conversations. 

"Okay, Mrs. Birkin. Thanks. You too. Okay. Bye bye." David had placed the receiver back on the cradle. His figure emerged from the kitchen doorway, and he looked at the two waiting for him.

"My apologies, you too," David said quickly, grabbing the thick winter jacket. "Shall we be off?"

"Yep," Claire nodded in agreement. "And you, Sherry?"

"Yes, but hold on." Sherry turned and walked back into the small den/living room, and saw the three—Jill, Barry, and Rebecca—and said her goodbyes to them.

"Bye, everyone. And thank you," Sherry said softly.

The three in turn said their goodbyes and in a minute, Sherry came back to Claire. "Now I'm ready to go." 

"Good. Let's go then," David said, and headed out the door. Claire and Sherry followed suit and headed outdoors, immediately feeling the cold Maine air stinging their exposed faces. Huddling together, they made it to David's car. David, of course, entered through the driver's side, Claire climbing in through the passenger and Sherry in the back. Quickly placing the key in the ignition, the engine came to life. 

"Let's go," David said, and placed the car into reverse. In a few seconds, the car had cleared the driveway. David placed the car into drive, and they were officially on their way back in the direction of the ruined city. Sherry looked behind her one last time, and saw the fading view of David's house seemingly retreating into the deep forest before becoming lost in the pines and firs. After a few seconds, she slumped back down in her seat staring at the road in front of them. This was going to be a long drive. So began the journey back.

A/N: 16,213 words down, 33,787 remain! I'm flying through, but the first icebergs of trouble have sprouted. I struggled with this chapter, as the action slowed down—tends to happen in slow moving parts. I hope this story guides me to action soon. I hope the next chapter will flow smoothly. Soon I will post **Chapter Six: Three Months Later. **As always, leave me a review!


	7. Enter the Survival Horror Yet Again

**Chapter Six: Enter the Survival Horror… Yet Again**

After meeting Kate Birkin, Sherry's aunt, they stayed for a while talking about the death of Sherry's parents, Annette and William. The two were careful not to divulge too much information as to the exact causes of their deaths, for safety's sake. During the chat with Kate, Claire had made a request to be excused and to use the phone. Away from David and Kate, she dialed 411.

            "Welcome to Directory Assistance," said the operator. "City and state, please."

            "Exeter, Maine," Claire responded to the switchboard.

            "One moment, please." A few seconds of muzak could be heard, and somewhere in there, she heard the familiar deep voice of James Earl Jones. 

            "Thank you for holding," came a female operator. "What listing would you like?" 

            Claire thought for a sec. She knew of no taxi services in Exeter. So she responded with, "Can I get listings for taxicabs?" She felt a little stupid asking that, and her face began to get a little warm as the blood rushed to her head. 

            "Sure. Hold on a sec," she said, and the muzak was once again heard, the same message from James Earl Jones heard during her wait. A second or two later, an automated female voice came on the line, spouting out a number for a taxi. Committing it to memory, she hung up and dialed…

On the lonely ride back to David's house in Exeter, the two hardly spoke with each other. There was nothing new to say, for the shock of the events that transpired was beginning to finally sink into their weathered minds. After the two returned, there was some more talk between the group of five before they finally called it a day and headed for bed.   

             Claire however stayed awake while lying in a sleeping bag on the couch in the den. She looked out the window and saw a multitude of stars filling the dark night sky. In the forests of Maine, there were no city lights, no large cities to pollute the sky with bright light. It was probably the most stars she had ever seen in one time. Back at the university, she never stopped to look at the bright balls of gas and concentrated energy—the rigors, leisure, and pleasures of college life took up that time. Now, however, she marveled at the grandiose splendor at the cosmos, each dot of light that varied in colors ranging all across the visible spectrum. Each one, a Sun many millions of light years away, ranging in degrees of brightness. On the floor near the couch lied a sleeping Leon, his light breathing heard throughout. Looking at a digital clock on a bookshelf near Leon's feet, she saw that it was about 2 A.M., when she decided to make her move. 

            Her eyes by now had adjusted to the darkness, her pupils wide to absorb any light. She unzipped her sleeping bag, and in the silent night, the sound seemed to have been amplified many times over. Leon began to stir, letting out a soft moan as he shifted position. His back now faced her, which allowed her to move without a possibility of Leon waking and seeing her. Dressed in a white tank top and shorts, she knew she'd have to dress for the cold, cold night. Quickly, but silently she did so, and checked to make sure she had her wallet. She'd need it. Barefoot, she crept slowly across the carpeted floor, stepping over the slumbering Leon. Down the short hallway, she saw the wooden door. On the floor next to the door were her shoes, and above a jacket. Slowly she put them on, trying to be as silent as she could. Ready to go, she turned the doorknob ever so gently, and felt the freezing chill air hit her face. Outside, waiting, was a taxi, the headlights off and the motor low. She looked behind her once more, part of her wanting to stay with them, but a stronger part wanted her to find her brother. She didn't want to be caught up in all of this insanity.

            _But I am. As soon as I entered the city, I was involved. I don't want to put them in any more danger. It's for the best that I go it alone. _

            The door was shut. In no time, she got into the taxi, and as the car slowly drove off into the night, she stared ahead into the surrounding darkness.

            _Did I do the right thing?_

            She was committed now, and was reasonably certain that she wouldn't see any of them for a long time, if ever. Her mind was spinning with thoughts, and as she tried to put them aside, she never noticed the young rookie cop standing at the window watching the taxi drive away into the night. 

            _Good luck, Claire. _

                                                *                      *                      *

Date: November 3, 1998.

            Leon S. Kennedy sat back at his desk in the small office room of his apartment, high above the bustling streets of New York City, apparently reading a document. About a week after Claire had gone back to wherever, Leon decided to take his leave back to New York. He had plans of his own. As much as he wanted to stay with David, Rebecca, and John, Leon felt as if he needed to go. He wanted to see Umbrella go down to the ground. This feeling may have been a result of his sometimes-present brash attitude, but he wanted revenge. This time it was personal. Umbrella had indirectly caused the death of Ada Wong, a woman whom Leon was beginning to feel attraction for, and she to him. In the last moments before she died, Annette Birkin disclosed that Ada was a spy, out to get the sample of G-Virus. Ada, in her last confrontation, revealed that Annette's words were true. As he sat there, the scene played in his mind, a scene that he wanted so badly to forget, but knew he'd never will. 

            _"__Leon__!" __Ada__ called, aiming the Beretta at her back. __Leon__ whirled around to see her, her face cold. _

_            "I've been waiting for you," she said, her voice matching her facial expression, steady and cold. While the two stood on the gantry, the female voice announced that the self-destruct sequence had been activated. The sequence could not be aborted. The message announced that all employees must go to the bottom platform. He looked at her, a look of bewilderment, confusion, and surprise played across his face. Here he was, a gun pointed at him by a woman he was sworn to protect. _

_            "Give me the G-Virus," __Ada__ demanded, unwavering._

_Leon__ stood in bewildered amazement. "She was right. You do work for Umbrella," he said, not so much in anger, but in pain. _

_            "No. Who I work for is none of your business, but I…I…I tried!" She wailed, her composure lost. __Leon__ saw a tear roll down one porcelain cheek. "I tried to leave you! But you just had to pick up that G-Virus sample! You couldn't just leave it alone, could you?!" She was sobbing now, the gun still pointed at __Leon__'s uniformed chest. Ada saw the look of pity on Leon's face, and felt the rage pass, sorrow sweeping in to take its place. A few seconds of tense silence passed between the two, until amidst the blaring sirens and female announcer coolly repeating the message._

_            "Hand it over," she said, trying to keep up a determined look. "Don't make me kill you."_

_Leon__ just looked into her eyes. "No," he said simply._

_            One second went by. _

_            Two._

_            Three._

_Ada__ began to lower her gun as another tear rolling down her cheek._

_            Leon blew out his held breath, becoming swamped in an ocean of feelings—pity, sadness, struggle, betrayal. He looked at her saddened expression—_

_            --and her eyes suddenly went wide with surprise as a shot rang out on the bridge, behind __Ada__. Her mouth fell open, the gun fell to the ground, and as she slumped forward, __Leon__ got a fleeting glimpse of the shooter._

Annette!

_            Ada's body pitched forward, her body hitting the rail and flipping over._

_            "__Ada__, no!!" He dove in an attempt to grab the falling _Ada___. She caught the rail as he grabbed her wrist, her fragile body dangling over a seemingly bottomless darkness, blood coursing from her afflicted shoulder. "Hold on!"_

_            "William…" she whispered, the deranged woman raising the gun to shoot the uniformed officer attempting to save the bitch, and suddenly she was falling, falling to the ground, the gun heavy and falling. She hit the dark metal, the pain fading away as she slipped into unconsciousness. _

_            "__Leon__…" __Ada__ said, tired, talking becoming a terrible effort. _

_            "Shut up," __Leon__ said. "I'll save you! Hold on," he said, his grip strong. His voice sounded as strong as her will, but her mind was made up._

_            "__Leon__…I can't. You must live. Get out while you can," She said softly, resigned to the fact that she was as good as dead._

_            "NO! I won't…" __Leon__ cried. _

_            "__Leon__…goodbye," She said, before letting go of the railing, falling, falling into the deep endless darkness. Leon stared in horror as he saw the fragile figure of Ada Wong fall, fall out of sight, and as she was falling, all he could do was scream her name as an immense torrent of grief hit him like a tidal wave. He fell to his knees, his fists clenched up to his face as he let out a sob. His legs had felt as if they had turned to jelly, the realization hitting him that she was dead._

Ada's dead… 

            _He saw her Beretta lying on the ground next to him, and felt another crash of grief as he picked up the weapon, the gun still warm,  noticing that it was light…too light._

It wasn't loaded…she never meant to hurt me at all; she lied this whole time…

            _Once again, he heard the announcement that the self-destruct sequence was activated. Slowly rising to his feet, he began to get up and walk away, knowing that he had to make it out alive, and remembered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small vial containing the purple fluid, the G-Virus—the reason why so many people had died. He didn't give it a second thought as he pulled his arm back and hurled the sample as hard as he could, and it fell, fell into the darkness. _

Let the sample burn in hell along with the laboratory. 

            He shook his head, trying to shake the tragic scene from his mind. He tried to focus on his matter at hand. In these last couple of days, with the help of one of his friends, they managed to pick up some snippets of Umbrella's doings. Apparently, they found a prison facility/lab located on Sheena Island, located off the eastern coast of Canada, near Newfoundland, that area. His friend, Ark Thompson, was the only other person there who was involved with the Resistance (as it would come to be called) against Umbrella. Technically, they were part of the underground resistance: the last surviving S.T.A.R.S. members who managed to dodge everything the evil corporation threw at them. Leon had decided to go underground because of personal reasons, to avenge the death of Ada Wong. Ark was the only one who knew, and after hearing and following the situation since it happened, decided to assist Leon. Ark and Leon had been friends for a very long time, even before their rookie days in training. 

            Ark had managed (through some wonderful hacking and speculation) to "procure" some pertinent info that something was happening at this unknown, Sheena Island. According to the document Ark gave him, it described an incident, a mass suicide by twenty prisoners. Apparently, rumor had gotten around among the prisoners about the T-Virus incident in Raccoon City. Rumors had been passed around that there was T-Virus located on the island itself. Panic stricken, the twenty prisoners performed a mass suicide so they wouldn't be infected. Both Ark and Leon had reasonable doubts about this document. It was a letter from the Sheena Island Prison Facility to Umbrella H.Q. Luckily, Ark had managed to pick up the reply from Umbrella regarding the mass suicide. Umbrella seemingly did not have any doubts about the Prison's report, but made mention of sending more "guinea pigs." Ark and Leon had the same suspicion about what these guinea pigs, almost a certainty. 

            "What do you make of it?" Ark Thompson asked, his sudden appearance in the doorway startling Leon. 

            "Honestly? I think the Prison report is bullshit," Leon said casually. "Since when twenty soldiers kill themselves in a mass suicide?"

            "I don't know," Ark said. "Maybe they were infected by the T-Virus."

            "If they did, then we would have heard about it by now," Leon responded.

            "Not necessarily," Ark replied, stepping into Leon's office. "If they had an outbreak of the T-Virus, I would think they would try their best to cover it up."

            Leon looked thoughtfully at Ark. "Good point…but my suspicion? Rumors about the Raccoon City incident _did in fact filter their way to Sheena Island. With the incident a major blow to Umbrella, the employees would be visibly shaken. This would lead to intrigue by the prisoners. Rumors would start. It's human nature. Rumors would circulate about their possibly having T-virus on the island itself. Having a modicum of intelligence, the inmates probably knew enough to know what the pathogen does. They  probably attempted to escape to avoid a fate similar to Raccoon City, and were gunned down. Probably thinking that Umbrella wouldn't like the fact that twenty of their research specimens, they made up a false report, writing off the incident as a mass suicide. Besides, Sheena Island is located out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, a remote location perfect for Umbrella to conduct its illegal research."_

            Ark looked at the grinning face of Leon, and looked satisfied. "I must say, I'm impressed. Not everyone can spin such a theory like that. What is your basis for that argument?"

            Leon looked back up at Ark. "This is Umbrella we're talking about," he said simply. "This is a deranged corporation—its employees, supervisors, top officials, all of them certifiable wackos."

            Ark, to say the least, was floored. "That's your basis? What kind of a firm footing is that?" 

            Ark's cockiness in that last statement triggered a nerve in Leon, for he glared angrily at the prideful man. "You were not there," Leon said angrily. "You have no idea what this company did, no idea what I was up against, no fucking clue what happened! You weren't there to see the heartbreak and bitter resentment as people died all around you, no idea about how fucking depraved they really _are!"_ He pounded his fist angrily on the desk. A look of shock crossed Ark's face. He made a gesture to calm down, but it was no avail. Leon rose to his feet, his facial expression tightened in a semi-controlled rage, his brow furrowed. "Who the _hell do you think you are, telling me I have no firm footing? _You have no room to _speak!" In his rant, his mind suddenly flashed the image, the image of her falling, falling to certain death, into eternal slumber. _

            __

_Ada__…_

His feelings of anger at Ark suddenly gave way to sadness as his unforgiving mind replayed that final scene, the last seconds. He bowed his head down, in an attempt to cover up the tear rolling down the side of his face. He hated to be seen like this, crying. It made him feel weak, vulnerable, embarrassed. His face grew red from embarrassment, making him feel regret for that onset of brashness. He forgot about the law of gravity, his tear falling off his cheek onto the document below, the tear mixing with the ink and swirling it. Slowly, Leon raised his head, his bloodshot eyes staring at Ark's. 

            "I'm sorry, man," Ark said quietly. "I didn't know—"

            Leon raised a hand to cut him off. "I should be the one sorry," he said, sniffling. "I didn't mean to burst out like that. I—I—it's just, you know. If you were just there, in that death trap—it—it—"

            "It's okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Should have held my tongue," Ark reassured. Leon chuckled in response, his sadness fading.

            "Yeah, you should have," Leon chuckled. Wiping his face, he sat back down. 

            "So what do we do about this?" Ark asked, pointing to the document. 

            Leon looked once again at the Umbrella document on his desk. He sighed, and looked at Ark, a serious expression now on his face. 

            "I'd like for you to go to Sheena Island."

            A few seconds of silence passed before the realization hit. Ark was once again shocked. "Me?" 

Leon nodded.

            "I want you to find out what exactly is going on with Sheena Island. My suspicion gnaws at me." 

            "Then why don't you go?" Ark asked, a little irritated.

            "Agency's orders," Leon said simply.

                                                *                      *                      *

            The helicopter flew quickly over the destruction, its silhouette clear against the moonlit, starry sky. Fire broke out in sporadic patches everywhere. Zombies were running amok all throughout the once prosperous island. 

            "_You're not going to get away!" screamed a man. He was dressed in white, latching on to the bottom of the chopper, struggling to climb on and kill him. Out of pure intent to kill, he aims his gun and a shot rings out. Suddenly the cockpit of the chopper is rocked in an explosion, the force of it knocking the white figure off the foot of the chopper. He fell toward the abyss, letting out an ear-piercing scream as he plummeted, accelerating at thirty feet per second per second toward the chaos. Panicked, he sat there helpless as the helicopter spun out of control, falling also toward the same chaos as the white clothed man. He saw the ground looming up at him quickly, and in seconds, the falling chopper hit the ground with a deafening crash. Metal quickly crushed as the bird became nothing more than a rumpled pile of sheet metal, an aluminum can. Glass shards flew everywhere as the dead chopper kept drilling into the ground, seemingly not satisfied with gravity's dominion. All things must stop. An object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. _

The pilot rolled out of the ruined aircraft, onto the ground below, his face bleeding from an open gash on his forehead. He sees nothing but chaos and disarray all around him. Shaken, he climbs to his feet, but as he does, his vision becomes blurred. The blurriness gives way to an increasing blackness, and suddenly the ground looms up once again, and he is falling, falling with it until consciousness fades away.

A short time later, the pilot wakes. He feels himself to check if he is still alive. As he lies there, he tries to remember what happened. The only thing he knows right now is his enormous headache.

_My head hurts…I don't want to believe I have lost my memory…_

He slowly rose to his feet.

_My past is buried somewhere at the back of my mind. Trying to recall any of it is like trying to grab hold of fog…_

He looked at his surroundings. Not too far away from him, he saw the billowing black smoke as it rose from the crashed helicopter. Tongues of orange flame lapped at the sides of the rumpled chopper. Looking around, he saw fire scattered throughout, and in his vision, he thought he saw people moving, but from his vantage point, they looked like they were heavily drugged, or maybe it was because the pilot wasn't all there yet. 

_What has happened here? Something is not quite right. My instinct tells me there is trouble ahead. I have to get out of here._

He slowly began to walk forward, toward the disarray. 

_Who am I? What is destined to happen to me? Am I doing the right thing? Nothing makes sense. But wait…one thing is for sure. The only thing I can trust is this gun. My gun will show me the way. I will survive. _

_I'm going to prove that I can survive…_

A/N: I think with the way this story has been guiding me, the next few chapters are going to be ending up a brief (or not so brief) novelization of Resident Evil: Survivor, since I introduced the character Ark Thompson. In the actual RE timeline, this takes place in during the three month span from the end of RE2 to the beginning of RE: CV, placing it in November 1998. In this time, Claire is at university (if we're going by S.D. Perry's idea, which makes sense to me, since Claire doesn't come back into the picture until December of 1998 when she goes to Europe to find her brother. What is Claire actually doing? We don't know, but since she's of college age, S.D. Perry's idea of her in college conforms to logic.). Rather than try to write a hard chapter about what she is doing in university, I jump to Leon's underground movement against Umbrella. Now the story shifts to Ark. **Chapter Seven **will be posted soon. Once again, as always, send me feedback. Write me a review!


	8. Name is Identity

**Note: **The two documents in this chapter (marked with *****) are taken directly from the game _Resident Evil: Survivor._ They are added for plot purposes. Capcom owns them, I do not. 

**Chapter Seven: Name is Identity**

            Walking straight into the confusion around him, the pilot had a look as if he had no purpose, lost. With his memory gone, the main focus of his current mindset was _why am I here? Slowly walking to the next street over, he looked at his current environment. Buildings surrounded him on all sides, and by the looks of things, it looked like a small city. Apartment buildings, shops, cars, all had no life in them. It was as if the place suddenly became a ghost town. His eyes diverted to something in the middle of the street, but from the slightly blurred vision, all he could make out was that it was white, stained with dark patches of color. Peaking his interest and curiosity, he walked closer and found to his shock that it was a man, slumped face down on the ground, his white lab coat stained red with blood. From the look of it, the man died very recently._

            _Hmm…he looks familiar…I don't know why he does, but he does. Hmm? What are these? _

            Kneeling over the fallen man, he noticed a set of dog tags in the man's clenched hand. Taking the shiny metallic objects, the pilot examined them closely. On the dog tags was the inscribed name "Ark Thompson." 

            _Guess that was his name. _

            Suddenly the pilot noticed an acrid smell in the air, the smell of rotting flesh. Its pungent aroma caused the pilot's stomach to turn in a wave of nausea. 

            _God! What is that awful smell? Where the heck is it coming from? Is there a dead animal nearby? _

            Looking behind him, he froze at the sight. Walking groggily towards him was a human—a human that had blood on his shirt. And his mouth. And his hands. And dripping from said mouth. 

            _What the--_

His eyes were glazed over, a filmy off-white color. His mouth looked like a giant red sore pasted to the front of his decaying face. 

_What the fuck are you?! _

The rotted, moldy arms reached out, letting out a moan as the source of the terrible, shitty smell of death closed the distance—

            --when suddenly two bullet holes ripped through the creature's head, blowing away chunks of brain, skull and rotted meat, blood running in torrents. A third shot to the head, straight through the glazed right eye, and he staggered backwards, falling to the ground, his head cracking open on impact. A shiny object fell out of the man's pocket. A pool of blood formed by his face, the one remaining eye filmed over with red. Images of horror movies suddenly flashed back to the pilot, and he only came to one conclusion.

            _A…zombie…_

            He placed the gun down, and walked cautiously over to where the carrion lay. Near his leg was the object that fell. Bending down to pick it up, he noticed that it was a key. Rusted, but a key. Instinct told him that he had to seek shelter immediately. There could be more of those—things—out there. A little ways down the road, he saw what could have been a church. Seeing that being the only thing, he ran now for the church. Reaching for the handle, it didn't turn. It was locked.

            _Hmm…maybe…_

            His luck held true, and the rusted key turned. Once inside, he did a quick look-see for danger. Nothing. From his observation, the church was small, and relatively simple looking; not too fancy or extravagant. Well maintained, for the most part. However, something didn't gel right, for above the altar was the image of an umbrella carved into the wall. Walking through the church, he decided to investigate where some of the back doors went. He found a room, observed that there was maybe a bookcase or two, and noted nothing suspicious about it, except for an open publication on the desk, perhaps a diary of some sort. And so he read: 

*****October 7, 1998

Today, the leaders of each section of the city, including myself, attended a meeting with the commander. The briefing was on the destruction of Raccoon City.

During the conference, everyone placed blame on William Birkin. He betrayed the company and wanted to keep the G-virus for himself. The commander told us that if there is a traitor like Birkin in this city, we should execute him immediately and without question.

I wholeheartedly agree with the commander's orders. This city is as vital to Umbrella as that laboratory in Raccoon City was. No...It is actually much more important.

We must not allow a biohazard to happen in this city. We cannot let Umbrella's efforts to buy the city and establish these billion-dollar facilities go to waste. We should keep a closer eye on the behavior of personnel in the future.*****

            _Raccoon__City__? Umbrella? William Birkin? Why so familiar?_

            Confused and disillusioned, he exited. Seeing no further use for being here, he found the back exit of the structure and exited. The door led him to an isolated street. A feeling of being lost swept through the dazed pilot. The street was unfamiliar, uncharted territory. He walked what he felt was down the street, until a new faint sound was picked up by his ears. At first, he thought his ears were ringing, but as he got closer, the ringing got increasingly louder. His confusion was tossed aside when he saw the pay phone at the corner of the street. Running over to the telephone, he picked the receiver. 

            "Hello? Who is this?" the pilot said, his voice firm.

            _Click._

"Hello? Hello? Anyone?" Annoyed, he sighed and hung up the phone. As soon as he did, he heard a whiny, raspy sound, similar to a sound of nails scraping a chalkboard.

            _What the hell __is that? A car screeching? _

            Looking into the haze, he spotted a silhouette of something. Whatever it was, it was moving toward him—fast. He could hear the sounds of _tick tick as the thing headed toward him._

            _Talons?_

 Finally, when it got into his clear line of view, he could not believe what he was seeing. He froze in shock at the gruesome sight of the creature, the size of a full-grown man, and he stared at the skin, noticing that there was no skin—the entire body covering was an intricate network of living, breathing red muscle. He could make out the puffy gray-white substance of a partially exposed brain, seeing the scar-rimmed spots where eyes could have been. 

_No fuckin' way. Not possible. I'm seeing things—what kinds of creatures like that exist? Where the hell am I?_

The totally unreal creature lashed out its tongue, a long, very long thin tongue, almost like a lance. Hanging from it were gobs of viscous saliva, giving it a sick shine, and from the shocked mind of the pilot, it looked like that tongue could pierce straight through a human body with no problems at all. It let out another roar, a feral sound that combined the screeching of tires and nails before rushing toward him, closing fast.

_I'm gonna die—I'm gonna die—talon will rip me in half—die—die—_

He let out a scream and suddenly he found himself firing the Glock, the bullets hitting the warped creature with a sick splatting sound as they took chunks of exposed brain with it. The creature suddenly flipped over on its back, its legs spasming violently. 

_Whew…_

Until the creature got its legs under it and flipped itself over in an action movie-type back flip and headed for him again. He fired round after round, taking chunks of the body with it until—it leaped into the air with surprising height and flexibility and began falling rapidly toward him, one razor-sharp talon exposed ready to slice the hapless pilot in two neat halves—

--when the last bullet went straight through its face, this one taking out a significant portion of grey matter. It let out an earsplitting screech of pain, and landed hard on its back, its legs flailing everywhere before finally relaxing, dying in a puddle of its own viscous blood.  Breathing heavily, the pilot stood there, dumbfounded at the hideous creation lying still in front of him, the legs splayed out around the mass of still muscle. His gun raised and still panting, he treaded forward very slowly, his sense of hearing heightened, hoping he wouldn't see another one of those monstrosities, let alone _hear_ one. Further up the street, his eyes could make out some infrastructure, and upon his getting closer, he saw a sign saying "Arcade." Directly outside the arcade entrance, he noticed another pay phone. Seeing it as unimportant, he kept walking steadily up the street, curious but scared to see where he'd end up. No more than three steps went by until the phone rang, startling the confused pilot, letting out a cry and aiming his Glock at the ringing pay phone. Sighing with relief, but feeling slightly sheepish for letting his fear get the best of him, he walked over to the pay phone and picked up the receiver. 

"Hello?" He asked.

"Vincent," a cold voice responded.

"Who? Vincent?" A look of confusion came over his face.

"You are nothing but a _cold blooded murderer," the firm voice accused. _

"What?" The pilot asked, shocked. "Me?"

"Don't play games with me, Vincent," the male voice shot back. "You are a ruthless assassin. A killer. _Murderer."_

"I am not a murderer," the shocked pilot said, his tone of voice showing irritation. "I demand to know more!"

The voice laughed. 

"Please—" the pilot was cut off by the sound of a click. The line was dead. "Hello? Hey? I'm not done talking to you!" He let out a cry of frustration as he slammed the receiver back down. 

_He called me a murderer. What did I do? And who is this Vincent? Am I Vincent? Did I really kill people? This doesn't make any sense, no sense at all…hmm?_

He heard the sounds of a helicopter approaching his position. Wait…make that two. Make that…several. The pilot looked up, only to find his suspicion correct. Several helicopters were heading over him, and suddenly he saw men in black and blue uniforms jump out of the choppers, descending over him. Seeing the small group of uniformed soldiers suddenly caused feelings of panic to creep inside the scared pilot. They could have been assassins, someone that he didn't feel like messing with. They looked like a force not to be reckoned with. Looking quickly around him, he noticed the closest possible shelter was the arcade directly in front of his position. Looking inside, he saw that it was dark, offering a possible hideout. His mind made up, he ran to the entrance and found, luckily, that it was unlocked. In no time, he was safely inside, and found a position to hide while looking out the window. His heart pounding, the sound of his heartbeat thundering inside him, he saw the SWAT team touch down just by where he stood a moment ago. Several men stood in front of one officer, facing him. He was probably the commander, he couldn't tell. 

"You know the drill, men," the commander said, his voice muffled by a respirator. "You are to cleanse the area of its infection." The group gave a collective nod of approval. Just then the pilot saw two zombies approaching from behind the group of "cleaners," their arms outstretched, chunks of decayed flesh falling off them. With almost lightning speed, the group turned and fired semi-automatic rifles, completely eviscerating the viral carriers as decayed skin, bone, brain, and blood sprayed everywhere. The whole process takes about three seconds, and after they dispatched the two zombies, the group split off in all directions, save one. The one remaining SWAT officer turned his head immediately in the pilot's direction. With frightening speed, he ran headlong into the window, the pane shattering, sending shards everywhere, the sudden sharp sounds piercing the eerie silence. 

_Shit—shit—shit—he knows where I am—_

In his clear line of sight, the fearful pilot saw that up close the SWAT officer looked more like a gorilla dressed in body armor than anything else—the arms reaching almost to their feet, and he was moving rapidly toward the pilot, rolling around on his knuckles like an ape. 

_Another weird creation? This is getting more bizarre by the second…_

On pure instinct, the pilot aimed his gun and fired two bullets in rapid succession. To his shock, the SWAT creature let out a feral roar, screaming like a dying wildcat before suddenly dissolving into nothingness. Gone. Poof. Just like that. Powder. He stared at where the creature just was, and was totally bewildered, to say the least. 

_What the hell is going on here?_

Suddenly a shot rang out, and a bullet flew straight into the wall next to the pilot, sending bits of drywall flying. The pilot let out a cry of surprise, and he dove behind an arcade game, hoping to shield himself from the sniper. He breathed heavily, realizing that that sniper fire came within inches of ending his life, a premature death in unfamiliar territory. 

"_Vincent!" The sniper yelled from what could have been the other end of the arcade. _

The pilot sat on the tile floor, completely motionless and silent.

"I know you're around," he yelled. "If I were you, I'd watch my step from now on. Next time I see you, I won't miss," he said menacingly. The sniper seemed to make an exit, his footsteps fading into obscurity. He sat there for a few minutes thinking.

_Who is this Vincent character that everyone seems to hate? Am I him? Is what the man on the phone said true, that I really am just a cold-hearted murderer? An assassin? That can't be right…but what if I am? _

He rose to his feet, and did a quick look around, hoping for a somewhat easy exit. He walked back toward the rear to explore a bit, gun raised, hoping not for another run in with the sniper. Finding nothing of interest, he headed to the rear exit and headed out into another unfamiliar street. 

                                    *                      *                      *

            Even though it was blissfully quiet in the safe haven of the elaborate sewer network, it was a complex maze. Safety does no good when you're lost. Without a bearing at all and no landmarks in sight, Lott Klein was, in every sense of the word, lost. 

            "Damn," the young teen says under his breath. He had a basic knowledge of the sewer system on this island, but nothing looked familiar at all. Every passageway was lit by lights attached to the damp stone walls, giving the atmosphere a creepy feel. Still, the contamination didn't spread to here, so he was safe…for now. He came to an intersection, and was faced with two possible directions—left or right. Making a sporadic decision, he decided left for no reason. Lott ran down the dimly lit hallway, the smell of dank, mildewed air invading his nostrils. He could hear the steady drip of water echoing throughout. 

            _I have to find him…he must know…_

            Several days ago, he had reported to Vincent Goldman, commander and overall leader of the island, that a spy had managed to get to the island. Not too long later, twenty prisoners like himself had escaped, only to meet up with death. Rumors about the cause of death flew, ranging from a mass suicide to all of them being gunned down. Then the trouble began. Soon, former soldiers and employees began roaming the streets like the living dead, and in the fray, everything seemed to fall to contamination and ruin. Where was Vincent? Lott had no idea, but he was scared for his life. Scared for him, scared for his sister Lily, scared for everyone. This was something he had never seen before in his life. Nothing was right anymore. It all happened so quickly, one strange quixotic event to the next, that it was bizarre—too bizarre. What had happened to everyone on this island? Were the rumors true? Was this the same fate that this so-called rumored Raccoon City endured? All those questions, with no concrete answer in sight, having their own possible explanations, each one seemingly more farfetched than the previous one. Then again, Lott was plunged, forced, into the current situation. He had to protect his sister from the evil man, those evil creatures, the evil everything. 

            "Damn it," he swore softly, realizing that he came to yet another intersection, but this time he was faced with only one choice—left. To his right was a cave-in, probably a result from whatever chaos, human, animal, or otherwise, had done.

_That's new…_

 "Might as well." Lott said to himself, going left. He saw something in the distance, and his excellent young eyesight showed him a ladder going up. A fleeting feeling of joy entered the young boy's heart, a sense of accomplishment after running around aimlessly for what seemed like hours. Hoping to achieve his goal, he kept running toward the ladder. 
    
    **_*_**_September 6th_
    
    I've never seen him, but I heard that one called Vincent has become the city's supreme commander. Officially, he is an elite sent by Umbrella headquarters. In truth, he is such a fiend that he would not hesitate to kill his friend it if would promote him. Well, since I live here in this
    
    dark sewer, it doesn't mean anything to me...
    
    _September 20th_
    
    I heard a disgusting rumor... The new commander Vincent, orders the facility personnel to do savage experiments every day on kids brought in from all over the world. I don't even know why those kids were brought to this city, but it sure is disturbing. Well, I don't want to get involved, so long as it doesn't affect me...
    
    _October 10th_
    
    It seems some terrible accident happened above ground last night. I don't know any more details, but I heard that Commander Vincent has done something cruel.
    
    _November 9th_
    
    Today at last, Commander Vincent came down here for an inspection. We made small talk, but I could see nothing but cruelty in him. When I took a picture of him as a souvenir, he became very angry...he is such a jerk!*****

            Flipping to the last page of the diary, he found a picture of a very familiar looking man. The man in the picture wore the same thing that the pilot was wearing now—a dark green parka with dark brown pants, slacks, if you will. 

            _This man in the picture…it's…me._

            And then a sudden revelation:

            _That means…I am Vincent. I am…this cruel man that these people say I am. It's true. The man on the phone, the sniper, the diary, all of it…true all along. _

            Vincent heard the sound of metal, someone climbing up a ladder from the open manhole near him in the office. Pulling his gun and aiming it at the opening, half hoping that it was one of these bizarre freaks, half hoping it was a human, a human just as lost as he was. The figure climbed up into his view, his back facing him. From Vincent's perspective, he was a young boy, probably no more than sixteen. He wore a long short sleeved yellow shirt, covering the waist of his black shorts, and around his neck he wore a set of dog tags. Vincent sighed in relief and placed the gun down. When the boy turned to see where he was, he cried out in surprise to the fact that he wasn't at all alone. The boy's eyes widened in a look of total fear.

            "Don't—don't shoot—" the boy stammered, his hands raised in automatic defense. "Don't—kill—kill me—"

            Vincent's expression changed to confusion and he took one step toward the frightened child. "Why would I?" Vincent used a calm voice. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. If—"

            "_Get away!" the boy yelled in fright._

            "Please, I won't—" 

            "Don't…come…any closer," the boy said in a frightened whisper, backing away.

            "But…"

            "No! Get away!" In one quick motion, the boy bolted down the ladder, and ran, ran into the sewer tunnels below. Vincent, wanting to find the boy, also began to go down the ladder into the unexplored territory below. 

            When he arrived at the bottom, he turned around just in time to see the panic-stricken child turn a corner to the right.

            _Why? What does this have to do with me? I need answers…_

            "Must…get…away," Lott said in between heavy breaths. His worn shoes hit the ground hard with each running step away from that man. In a sudden flash of vision, his mind recalled the way back to Paradise, and Lott knew that's where he must go. He looked behind him, seeing to his horror that he was still behind him--a considerable distance, yes, but still tailing him regardless. Lott tried to lose him by making quick turns into other passageways, but to no avail. The man kept up with him. 

            "I won't hurt you!" Lott heard the echoed cry of the evil man reverberate off the tunnel walls.

            _Yeah, you and all of the guards say the same thing…all of you…_

"_Liars!" Lott yelled back. He kept running, running as fast as his legs could carry him. His heart felt as if it was going to burst, it was pounding so hard. Finally, after seemingly endless miles of running through the humid labyrinth, he found the ladder he so wanted to find. Almost crashing headlong into it, he quickly got a firm grip and pulled himself up the metal ladder, rung by goddamn rung. He climbed out in front of a gate, and without a second thought he bolted inside, shutting the gate behind him, hoping Lott would lose him._

            _Damn! Where did he go?_

He came out onto a passageway where he last saw the boy. Looking quick in both directions, he saw a ladder to his left. 

            _He must've._

Hoping he wasn't long gone, he too headed up the ladder. He came out directly in front of a thick gate, barred with metal. It looked very much like a gate to a prison. 

            _Could he have run in here? _

Looking behind him, he could see several zombies some distance away, walking toward him with that familiar stagger, the same moaning sounds. There was now no doubt in his mind that the child ran into here. He looked at the gate once again, and saw a sign with just one word.

            Paradise.

A/N: Wow. Almost halfway through! So, how do you like my attempt at beginning novelizing RE Survivor? Let me know! Soon **Chapter 8 will be posted. Send me feedback!**


	9. A New Breed

Once again, documents taken from RE: Survivor has been marked in ***.**

**Chapter Eight: A New Breed**

            Vincent stared at the main entrance of a small building, a building of gray stone and brick. Seeing that he was faced with no other option, he walked into the building. Once inside, his eyes adjusted to the bright florescent lights of the hall. On all sides were vertical metallic gray bars, and as he looked inside, something clicked. 

            _A prison…_

            Before he had time to think of what to do next, he heard the low moans of two undead blocking the path in front of him, their tattered prison clothes hanging off their bodies as was pieces of moldy rotten flesh. The horrid stink of decay almost overpowered Vincent once again, but he regained his composure and fired at the two, the bullets of the Glock making their marks on the targets, creating bullet holes in the upper chest. Blood trickled in a steady course from the open wounds, but the two kept coming until they were only a few feet away. Moving back, his heart quickening, he fired round after round, catching one in the head, taking half his skull with it. He sank to the ground, immobile. The other one was almost on top of him, and suddenly he was firing with nothing. 

            "Of all possible times!" He yelled. Reacting quickly, he did the only thing he could do. As the zombie lunged for the vibrant life of the pilot, he gave the zombie a swift kick to the stomach, and watched in surprise as the creature split into two with a sickening sound of ripping flesh and breaking bone. The creature let out a moan of what may have been pain and he fell to the ground. To his horror, the upper half clawed his way toward him still, trailing blood everywhere. He grabbed on to the shoe, his blood stained hands trying to grasp, trying to bite through the shoe. With a cry, he broke free, and with all his power, he slammed his shoe into the weak skull of the zombie, crushing it on impact, the bone making a sick _crack_ as it broke through, accompanied by a wet splat as the brain flattened. Vincent suddenly swooned, the fetid smell too much for him, and as his vision blurred, he grabbed onto a jail bar and vomited, wave after wave of acidic bile and digested food falling, splashing onto the demolished head of the zombie, creating chemical reactions beneath him. 

            When he was finished, he stood there, breathing heavily. Wiping his mouth with one sleeve of the parka, he shook his shoe, sending bits of brain, skin, bone, and blood in all directions. Taking another clip, he ejected the empty magazine and slapped this one home. Feeling better to walk, he ran down the hall, passing several cell blocks, and he that one of them was open. Vincent walked into the cell, checking for anything. The only thing he saw on the ground were a few tattered pieces of paper. Picking up the loose sheets, he deduced that it was a diary of some sort, this one from a prisoner, and by the looks of it, a young boy. 
    
    **_*_**_September 5th_
    
          16 days have passed since I was abducted on a street in Congo by the men in black, and was brought here. I didn't understand what was happening at first, but I gradually became aware of the truth of this city. We seem to be confined here to serve as guinea pigs for a medical company called Umbrella Inc. All the residents of this city work for Umbrella, even the women and children are family members of employees.
    
          The guinea pigs seem to be gathered from all over the world. The guy in the next room is from China, the one in front of my cell is from Brazil. The rest are Russian, Japanese... It's like a world trade show. It's strange that they are all around my age. The youngest is 16, and the oldest is 19 or 20.
    
          Those guys from Umbrella sometimes take us to an arcade or to a nigh club so we can enjoy ourselves and relieve our stress, but I won't let them deceive me. I will escape from this place, no matter what it takes! I must... Anyway, the most important thing to do now is to organize and gather our comrades for what lies ahead.
    
    _September 10th_
    
          Recently, the others have been behaving strangely. It seems that they put some kind of weird drug into our meals. I sometimes lose consciousness, too. I have to be careful.
    
    _September 21st_
    
          I can't believe it! Another friend of mine, Chin, from the next room, was taken to the factory on the mountain. I don't think Chin's coming back. He will meet the same fate as Anna or Jacob who disappeared last week. I know...I know what happens to those who are taken to the factory on the mountain...
    
          When they took me to a night club yesterday, I overheard a conversation that some factory workers were having...under orders from Vincent, the commander of the city, they cut open our brains and extract some kind of material, whatever they call it.
    
          All I can say is that Vincent is a devil. No...not just Vincent. Even the women and children in this city don't treat us as human beings, but as guinea pigs. All the people in the city are evil. I will surely be killed if I stay here any longer. We have to hurry and execute our escape plan!
    
    _October 9th_
    
          The time has come. I have noticed the Umbrella people have been visibly disturbed for about a week or so. Rumor has it that there was a terrible accident at the Umbrella Laboratory somewhere in America. All the prison guards seem to be very busy gathering information on the accident, so security isn't as tight.
    
          We've organized our comrades already. Stojkovic and Enriquez are supposed to steal the keys from the guards. Sankhon and I will act as decoys, and Yoshikawa and Fellipe are in charge of gathering weapons.
    
    _October 10th_
    
          We have decided our escape route. The plan will be carried out at 11 PM tonight. We have twenty members separated into two units: Unit A and Unit B. Unit A will go into the sewer through the ventilation slot of the confinement room, while Unit B will use a rope climb down from the surveillance tower.
    
          We'll use the rope they used to tie us. If we fail, Vincent will surely kill us. But if we stay here, Vincent will order them to cut our brains eventually. We're dead either way, but I'd rather die trying to escape...*****

            _No…this can't be me. I can't be responsible for this. Why? Whoever heard of doing such an inhumane thing? Imprisoning children? Extracting chemicals from their brains? What kind of madman does this? Was this really my doing? Am I really that barbaric? _

            Suddenly Vincent heard a loud crash. Alert, he raised his gun and headed back into the hall. In a matter of seconds, several zombies had filled the hallway ahead, blocking Vincent's path. Instinctively, they must have sensed him, for the group of seven, by Vincent's count, began to stagger toward him.

            _Oh, no—more of you? _

            He checked his gun. Trying to shoot all of them down would be suicide—he didn't have enough bullets to take them all down successfully. By the time he'd have to reload, they'd be on him. The closest ones had their arms outstretched, the pale hands reaching for the fresh life. Vincent decided to do something insane. Lowering his head like a football player, one arm shielding his head, he ran at them, full gallop, screaming. He plowed straight into the dead sea, feeling the give of soft decay. When he made it through, he looked behind him and saw they were all down; he found he had made it to the end of the hall. The path had broken off into two directions—to his left, a door that had a sign saying, "Warden," and to his right, an open doorway with a stairwell leading up. His decision would have to be made fast, for the gangrene gang was slowly rising one by one. They would be on him in a matter of seconds. His mind suddenly remembered the young boy's escape route—a rope going down a guard tower. He found the energy and bolted towards the stairwell, and slammed the door behind him. 

Upon going up many, many stairs, Vincent found himself winded, to say the least. He took a seat in front of a giant glass window, a window that surrounded the entire room. Sensing no immediate danger, he decided to stay here for a few minutes to catch his breath. Sweaty and tired from that escape bit, he laid back and closed his eyes, blocking out what was all around him—the chaos, ruin, and confusion of the whole matter. After a minute or so, he opened his eyes to see what he walked into. In front of him was some radio equipment in addition to some other controls and buttons that were unfamiliar. He looked around him, and the first abnormality he saw was that one of the windows surrounding the room was broken, the pane shattered along the floor. Attached to a leg supporting the radio panel was a rope, and Vincent's eyes followed it out the window, proving the incarcerated boy's diary. There _was_ an actual escape attempt. Below the rope was a pair of binoculars. He got out of the comfortable chair, and looked outside at the world below. In the haze and smoke from the scattered fires, he could see a myriad of creatures below—the SWAT "cleaners," some zombies staggering here and there, and some of those creatures with the brains, "lickers," they'd be called. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement, human in its motion. Intrigued, Vincent squinted to get a better look. The human was running up a street, and fading out of Vincent's view. Snatching the binoculars, he looked in the human's direction to get a better view. He had found the human, and from the look of it, the person was wearing street clothes. Judging by looks, he was male. Obviously, he was scared for his life, and while running, he looked behind for a quick second to see if any of the hideous freaks were following him.

_The boy! It's him! _

The boy that Vincent met, rather, the boy that ran from Vincent quickly opened a door of a building nearby, and disappeared from view. Vincent dropped the binoculars and looked out, down to the ground below. The rope hung the whole length of the guard tower, so no problem there. Vincent grabbed a section of it and pulled with all his might. It would hold him on the climb down. Placing the Glock in the holster, he grabbed onto the rope and threw his legs over the side, careful not to cut himself on the jagged edges of broken glass. Gripping hard, he slowly made his way down once again into unfamiliar land.  

            When he reached ground level, his shoes made a crunching sound as they landed on broken glass. At once, he turned in the direction of the building the boy escaped into. He got about, maybe, four steps in before he felt the ground shake beneath him, a quick shake. 

            _…the fuck?_

            He stopped in his tracks, confused. A few seconds later, he felt another _thud, more powerful than the first. His heart began to pound once again, and he broke out in a run. No sooner did he begin did he see a massive figure directly ahead of him, the biggest man he'd ever see in his life. He wore a black trench coat, which by the look of him, covered his tremendous bulk. He walked in a slow cadence toward him, and Vincent could make out his bald head, a sickly white, his deep black eyes rimmed with red. The massive figure walked toward him steadily on tree-trunk sized legs, pounding the ground with its huge booted feet. Its massive meaty fists were clenched by its sides, and finally Vincent had no doubt. This was no man—it was a _HUGE _monster. Vincent stood there frozen, mouth agape, not wanting to believe that this was real, that there was this bulking figure almost directly on him. _

            _No. No. Can't be happening. This isn't possible—it's all a bad dream. I'm gonna wake up. Wake up. Wake up, damn it! Wake up! _

            The towering figure hovered above him, and stared hard at him with those black, black eyes. It raised one of its boulder-sized fists in the air, hovering several feet above him.

            _Shit, Vincent—move—move—_

_            MOVE! _

The huge ball of muscle began to descend rapidly toward Vincent's skull, and suddenly Vincent found it in himself and dodged out of the way just in time, the figure's fist hitting the ground with a powerful _thud_. When he moved it, Vincent saw that he left a fist-shaped crater where impact had been. The towering brute turned his head slowly, his face contorted in anger—even though it had no eyebrows or anything to visibly show emotion, Vincent could feel the rage pouring off him in invisible concentric waves. Snapping out of his shock, he pulled his gun out and fired a slug into the bald head of the creature, hitting it with precision accuracy. However…

            …Vincent stared in terror at the target. He had clearly hit it dead on.

            _It's…not…bleeding…holy…shit…_

            No blood. Nothing. It was if the bullet missed. No longer was the instinct to fire, but Vincent quickly turned tail and ran as fast as he possibly could away from the seemingly invincible figure. As he ran up the street, buildings went by in a blur. 

            _What kind of creation is that?!  Is it invincible? What the hell was __that thing? That had to be what the boy was running from…what else could there be? _

            He was running so fast, his mind whirling from the encounter he just had, that he nearly missed his escape route. Realizing, he quickly took a hard right and scrambled into the door, into an all-encompassing darkness. 

It was pitch black on all sides. His eyes were slowly becoming adjusted to the sudden change of light. He took a step forward, and suddenly he was hit in the back with something huge, and was launched into the air, his arms flailing at total blackness, nothing but air. He let out a scream of fear, not knowing where he was going to land. In a few seconds, he landed on his side with a loud thud, his body screeching to a halt. The wind was immediately knocked out of him as he saw red for a second. He lay there, rendered immobile from the powerful hit from the unseen enemy. He dropped the Glock by his side, clutching himself in pain, trying to breathe but not able to. The sudden shock of impact had shocked the diaphragm, locking it temporarily, restricting his breathing. 

            Vincent writhed on the ground, gasping for precious, life-giving air. His eyes were wide with fear and pain, and it felt like an eternity on the floor. Finally a few seconds later, his diaphragm remembered to move, and he gulped in the nourishing air by the lungful, happy to be alive.

            _Shit! What the fuck was that? What hit me? Who hit me? _

            By now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness surrounding him, and in the dimness of it all, Vincent could see that he was on a waxed dance floor. He was in a nightclub or dance hall of some sort, and near the doorway he saw his attacker. 

            _Oh, no…not more of you…no…no!_

            Walking at the same slow pace towards him were not one, but two of the massive trench coated creatures he had just seen minutes before, their bald white heads almost glimmering in the dark. Panic stricken, he snatched up his gun and scrambled on all fours, slipping as he tried to get on his feet. Falling on his ass again, he stared in heart-wrenching fear as the two headed toward him in that eerie, steady pace, shaking the ground with each massive step. He managed to get himself back on his feet, and looked behind him to check for an exit. Wasting no time, he decided that staying here would be suicide, and he sprinted toward the exit—almost too fast, for he almost slammed into the door. Fumbling with the door handle for a few seconds, he managed to get one sweaty hand on the handle, and suddenly he was back on another unfamiliar street. The first thing he noticed was the building directly in front of him, a tall skyscraper, emblazoned with the ominous Umbrella logo. 

            _This must be some sort of command facility or something like it… _

            Vincent walked across the street, catching his breath after the run-ins with the "Mr. X" units. His side hurt, and he knew that that punch would leave a nasty bruise. Luckily no bones were broken. As he walked closer to the double doors, his mind whirled with strange thoughts, thoughts that were familiar, but at the same time foreign. 

            _Umbrella…_

_            T-virus…_

_            Sent here…_

_            Accident…_

_            Outbreak…_

_            Helicopter crash…_

            The thoughts flew in and out of his mind too quickly for Vincent to get a latch on any one. When he walked in the doors, he was surrounded by white light, a sharp contrast to all the black Vincent had seen. The black tile floor beneath him was adorned in the Umbrella emblem, but something was amiss. Vincent noticed a trail of blood starting just a few feet in front of him, then snaking its way down toward what could have been an office and then hanging a right down a hall past the office.

            _Something happened here, and from the look of the blood trail, it looked like it happened very recently. Judging from the look, someone…or something was dragged across the floor. _

 Countertops lined both sides of him, probably used as check-in or security. Ahead of him was an elevator, the doors open. Gun raised, he crept slowly toward the open elevator, hoping he wouldn't come face-to-face with yet another of the Mr. X units. 

_Tic tic tic._

He stood rigid. That sound was vaguely familiar. It sounded like claws hitting the floor. It was a slow moving progression, and nearby. The _tic_ sounds louder, and whatever it was, it was heading toward the lobby. He saw it walking out of the side hallway. 

It had a huge body, reptilian in appearance, its slick dark green body covered in small, pebbled scales. It was walking hunched over, so that its disproportional long arms stretched almost to the floor. Its "hands" and feet were covered in razor-sharp claws, thick and ominous, laced with blood. Small reptilian eyes were set in its flat skull. It turned its gaze at him, dropping its hinged jaw and let out a high-pitched feral shriek, a sound unlike anything Vincent heard before. With its powerful legs, it began to race toward Vincent, its mouth agape.

_This is getting annoying—one aberration after the other…_

He aimed at the speeding Hunter, firing off a couple of bullets, sending pieces of reptile skin flying, but the monster kept barreling toward him.

_Shit!_

He had to move, dodge, something, it would be on him in seconds. Vincent sidestepped, hoping the thing would just breeze by, but to his surprise the creature showed intelligence and immediately followed suit. With one giant thrust of its muscular legs, it leaped into the air, one arm outstretched, one razor claw aimed at the scared pilot. It let out another screech as it was coming down, ready to end the pilot's life—

--when Vincent dove to the floor, firing in haste at the hulking bio-weapon. He landed on his bruised side, sending a new wave of pain throughout his body. He fired round after round into the slippery skin of the MA-121, watching the thick red blood leak from the bullet wounds. It let out another angry cry before quickly turning in his direction, the gaze from the eyes staring straight into the pilot. Struggling to get up from the pain, he aimed to fire again, and felt the _click click click of an empty chamber._

"Fuck," he cursed himself as the creature began to go into another crouch. Running toward the elevator, he emptied the clip and slammed another magazine into the chamber. The Glock was alive again, fresh bullets flying out of the barrel. As it ran toward him, Vincent fired slug after slug into its flat skull, until it let out a cry of pain as a hot one flew into one its eyes, spraying blood out the back of its head. It staggered for a few seconds, wailing, until it finally began to fall to the ground. No sooner did it begin to fall when Vincent heard another screech. Barreling down the hallway was another Hunter, its muscular legs propelling it at full speed. Vincent ran into the elevator and slammed the door close button, and slowly it began to close.

_Come on, damn it! Close! Close! _

He could hear the creature getting closer with each lunge. It let out a screech of anger, and was heading for the trapped Vincent.

_Almost…_

Quickly, it leaped into the air, one powerful jump, claw outstretched. Vincent fired, the booming sounds of the pistol filling the small elevator. Coming down, down, down—until the door closed right on the outstretched arm of the Hunter, its thick claw just inches from Vincent's face, the blood dripping from its thin point. He leaned back against the wall, clutching his aching side, breathing heavily. He could hear the animal scream. Vincent pressed a button, any button to make the elevator go up. He watched and felt a wave of happiness as the Hunter's arm moved down to the floor, becoming stuck as gravity tried to take it down. Vincent could hear the sick ripping sounds of flesh, bones snapping and in a couple of seconds, the arm was pulled from the Hunter, landing on the elevator floor. It landed with a soft _plop_, and blood immediately began to leak from the dismembered arm, forming a small pool staining the carpeted floor. Vincent leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes, not believing that he was still alive. All he heard now was the dull hum of the machinery working, the elevator going up. To whatever floor, he didn't know. All he could do was take a short breather before exploring more uncharted territory, before plunging himself back into the fray. 

A/N: So now where is he gonna go? I don't know…actually I do know. I also know that this is coming off rather nicely, better than I expected. As always, feedback is welcome! Soon I will post **Chapter Nine. **


	10. Another Meeting

Documents from RES are marked in ***.**

**Chapter Nine: Another Meeting**

            Blasting his way to the thirteenth floor, he came upon an office. On the halfway-burned door was the nameplate "Vincent Goldman." Stepping inside, the first thing he noticed was that the office had taken on extensive fire damage—the whole room looked like a charcoal briquette. On the wall to Vincent's right, the wall looking the least damaged, a group of security monitors were active. Looking at the screens, Vincent noticed a little girl, probably a young teenager, sitting what looked like a security console elsewhere in the building. There was almost nothing in his office that looked like any use. On the partially blackened desk, he found a book. Next to it was a keycard and another gun, and when Victor picked it up, he saw it was a Magnum revolver, fully loaded. Vincent looked at the weapon. It looked brand-new and shiny. He searched the desk drawers, and found luck. He had two boxes of magnum rounds in the drawer, more than sufficient. He pocketed the keycard and ammo in one of his parka pockets. 

            _I must have been a very paranoid person…_

Placing the Magnum down, he picked up the book on the desk, only to find that it was his own diary. 
    
    **_*_**_October 10th_
    
    Last night, a group of guinea pigs confined in the prison escaped, took weapons, and caused a riot. The guinea pigs who were responsible for the incident were all shot to death by myself, but it will cause a lot of trouble if Umbrella headquarters becomes aware of this.
    
    This could spoil my plan of returning to headquarters and collecting my reward for my great achievements here in this city. I ordered the prison chief to report the incident as a mass suicide, but I will also have to order the others who are involved not to talk about it...
    
    _November 8th_
    
    The people of the city who have been opposing me are now trying to gather information, intending to report to headquarters what I did. Yesterday, that little boy, Lott, told me that a spy sneaked into the city. I guess that spy may have something to do with the rebellion happening here.
    
    I'll let him go for now, and see who he works for and why he is here. Then I'll kill him. It's a sad story that the only person that I can trust in this whole city is that little kid, Lott.
    
    _November 19th_
    
    The people of the city seem to be preparing to hand the prosecution report to the headquarters people who are delivering the new guinea pigs next week. They say that they have evidence of my doings. I can never allow them to reveal that. Those civilians will regret what they are doing. I'll teach them what happens to those who oppose me!!
    
    _November 22nd_
    
    Now they know who holds the power! I've spread the T-virus all over the city. Of course it was done to look like an accident. The city should be completely contaminated. Now I can go back to headquarters and get promoted for my great achievements at the factory. No one can oppose me now...! Wait... there is one person that I have to take care of. It's that spy. I have to eliminate that rat who sneaked into the city!*****

at the screens, Vincent noticed d, a group of security monitors were active, a couple of them showing s

            He sat there, tears beginning to well up in the scared pilot's eyes. 

            _That's why all those creatures are running amok throughout the island…they were released, created by my own hand! I caused all this destruction! Why?!_

"_Why?!" Vincent wailed, tears running down his cheeks. "__Why did I cause so much death?" Slowly, he raised his pistol to his head. He felt the cold metal of the barrel on his right temple, and his finger rested on the trigger. _

            "If I caused so much death and destruction," he whispered to himself softly, sniffling, "then I too should die." He closed his eyes and slowly put pressure on the trigger. Shutting his eyes tight, he braced himself for the one, the bullet that would kill him, spraying his soft spongy brains everywhere, when suddenly the wall to Vincent's left crumbled with a loud breaking noise as a pile of stone, cement and drywall formed. To Vincent's amazement, a Mr. X unit had broken through the wall, and then it stopped. It's pale bluish-white head turned to Vincent, and stared hard at him with those deep black pools of eyes. It walked toward him in that all-to-familiar pace, a death march. Snapping back to reality, Vincent pulled the Glock away from his head and snatched up the Magnum. He turned the safety off and aimed squarely at the huge figure's chest. When he pulled the trigger, a thundering boom followed by a tremendous recoil ensued as the powerful bullet flew out of the gun. It hit the massive creature dead on, and for once, had an effect as the slug forced the towering brute back. He fired again, walking closer to the reeling monster. He let out a laugh of triumph. He fired another. Then the fourth bullet was aimed at his head. Now at almost point-blank range, he took careful aim and pulled the trigger, almost giddy with glee. 

            The bullet ripped into his face, taking half of it with hit as skin, brain and bone splayed out wonderfully in a dazzling show of firepower. No blood. The creature seemed to fall in slow motion, as if gravity was suddenly reduced. His great bulk hit the floor hard, sending up a cloud of dust as the room shook from impact. Surrounded in the thick cloud, Vincent let out a laugh, bordering on hysterical. He looked at the fallen being, and was laughing maniacally. 

            _That felt reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally good. Mess with me, you bastards!_

            Feeling smug, he walked out of his office, the Glock in the holster now. He felt safer holding that Magnum. While he was safe for now, he reloaded the revolver and headed to his left down the hall. He came upon a door labeled "security office," and the first thing he noticed is that it was electronically locked. By the door handle was an electronic card reader device of some sort. Of course, in classic Resident Evil fashion, he pulled out the key card and swiped it through the reader. Also in classic Resident Evil fashion the light on the handle changed from red to green, with an accompanying beep signifying that the door was unlocked. He walked into the room, and once again it was lit up with plenty of white florescent light. On both walls were a series of monitors. The small entryway would open up into a bigger space in a few feet. 

            "Vincent…" he heard a woman's voice. Vincent stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his name.

            "Vincent…" There it was again, and by the sound of it, the woman sounded old, almost motherly. 

            "What do you want?" replied a gruff voice. 

            "This is your mother, darling," the woman said calmly.

            "_What…do you want, woman?" Vincent said gruffly._

            _My mother? An audio recording?_

"Please," she began, "come home. Stop committing these horrible crimes." Her voice had a note of pleading. 

            "Why should I?" Vincent sneered. "Once Umbrella sees the fine work I've been doing for them, I'll be rewarded handsomely." Vincent chuckled.

            "Vincent, please!" His mother cried, begging now. "Stop performing these…these…atrocities against innocent children! Come home!" 

            "No, woman," Vincent said coldly. 

            "Why, Vincent, why? All for the sake of some…reward? Is that why you're doing this…this horrible thing?"

            "What I do is none of your concern. Why can't you leave me alone?" Vincent said firmly. 

            Meanwhile, Vincent walked toward the open space slowly.

            "Come home, please!" His mother cried, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. 

            Vincent had turned the corner to see the source of the audio recording when his eyes saw a little girl sitting on the floor in one of the monitors. She was dressed in casual clothes, a red shirt that was covered by blue overalls. The image in Vincent's mind flashed back to a few minutes ago.__

            _The girl on the monitor in my office…_

            "Goodbye, woman," Vincent's voice said over the speaker. 

            "Vincent, ple—" A _click_ was heard, probably the sound of hanging up. Looking up, the young girl saw the figure of Vincent looming over her, and she let out a scream of terror, as if someone was about to kill her. From this close range, Vincent reasoned that she couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve.

            "Quiet!" Vincent yelled, raising his hands in a gesture to calm down. "Don't raise attention to this place! You'll attract them!" 

            It was to no avail. "Back away from me, you _murderer!_" She let out another blood-curdling scream. She backed herself into a corner. Vincent took one step toward her.

            "Shh! Quiet!" 

            Frantically searching, he noticed the gaping hole in the wall. Next to the pile of rubble lay a tall figure, sporting a black trench coat, half of his head removed. Lott walked into the next room clutching his baseball bat. He quickly noticed the blackness of the walls.

            _Someone liked fire. Hmm…monitors are still on, amazingly._

            Straight ahead of him were monitors. He noticed that there were two people on one of the screens. He walked closer to get a better look. He noticed a young girl in the corner of the room, a look of pure fear on her face. Several feet in front of her was a man, and from the looks of it, he was trying to calm her down. 

            _Wait! That's him! The man from the sewers! And that's…_

Before his mind could reply, he heard an ear-piercing scream coming from somewhere nearby. 

            _It's her! I'll save you from the evil man…_

He walked back into the hallway and headed for the source of her scream. Slowly, he crept into the security office, his bat clenched with both hands. He walked on tiptoe, silent as he possibly could.

            "Please, young girl, calm down! I'm not going to hurt you!" Her eyes stared straight into his, a look of terror filling them. Her voice was reduced to a whimper. In her mind, she was trapped. 

            "Thank you. That's more like it," he said calmly.

He crept up to just a couple of feet behind the evil man, and he raised his aluminum bat high into the air, ready to bring it down into his skull, finally ending his life, finally getting bittersweet revenge. 

In a matter of a split second, Vincent noticed her eyes waver from him. He looked, saw a shadow behind him and quickly spun around, his Magnum pointed at the head of his would-be attacker, the girl screaming—

--and saw the boy drop his bat out of terror as he let out a yell, totally not expecting that at all. It hit the floor with a loud _clang_, and at once Vincent recognized him.

"You!" They both yelled in unison surprise. Vincent lowered his gun. Their gazes locked for a split second, until suddenly the boy dove to the ground, snatching his bat and clutched it in both hands, swinging it wildly at his pursuer. Vincent easily dodged each misplaced swing.

"What are you doing?" Vincent yelled, moving back. 

"Asshole!" Another swing. "Don't you even _think about harming her!_"

"Relax! I'm not going to! Please, don't force me to shoot you!" He dodged again.

"Don't force you?" the boy laughed. "You're a heartless savage!" Another misplaced slice, grabbing nothing but air. 

"No!" Vincent denied. "I'm not him!" 

"Bullshit!" the boy screamed. Having enough, Vincent pulled out the Magnum again, stopping the boy dead in his tracks. The mighty revolver was aimed at his chest. 

"Don't play cocky with me, boy," Vincent said softly. "I don't want to do this. Put the bat down." His voice was slow and deliberate. Defeated, and seeing this little tryst would end in a stalemate, he slowly placed the bat down. "Good. Now will you tell me what the _hell is happening here?" Vincent lowered his gun. The boy stood silent. "Tell me…now."_

Seizing his chance, the boy ran for the little girl and took her hand. Running for the exit, he grabbed his baseball bat and the two ran out the door. "Next time I see you, I won't hesitate!" He yelled. Vincent watched as the two ran into the elevator. The doors began to close when Vincent began to give chase. He was running, getting closer and closer, but he'd be too late. The doors had closed on him.

"Damn it!" He yelled, pounding the door. He pushed the button, but it did nothing. "Where could they go now?" Vincent watched the LED display above the door go in descending order as the elevator went down from thirteen.

_Five._

_Four._

_Three._

_Two._

_Ground level._

_"P" level._

The elevator stopped at "P" level, and Vincent pressed the recall button. Waiting seemed like forever as the elevator journeyed back up to the thirteenth floor. Finally, with a cheery arrival _ping the doors opened, and he headed down to "P" level, hoping he hadn't lost the children. Suddenly above him he heard a loud thud, and quickly he heard the sound of slicing metal as one green reptilian claw penetrated the car, missing his ear by an inch. He let out a cry of surprise at the unexpected intruder, followed by the unmistakable cry of the MA-121 Hunter. Aiming up, he fired three Magnum rounds, hoping to get the creature. Suddenly the freakish bio-weapon crashed through the ceiling, sending the illuminated space into dimness, knocking out all but one light. It landed perfectly on its legs. Before it even had a chance to move, Vincent fired two rounds directly into the flat green skull, raining pieces of shattering bone and skin all over the walls and onto Vincent's parka. It had no head, no cry, and just fell back against the wall, slumped, as a river of blood poured from the massive wound. When the elevator slowed to a stop, Vincent breathed a sigh of relief. However the doors opened to reveal one of the virus carriers staggering into the elevator, arms outstretched as a wave of decayed stink flowed into the elevator. Using his last bullet, he fired into its torso, generating a massive hole as it ripped his innards right out, raining contaminated blood and fetid skin to the ground. It collapsed easily. He carefully stepped over the body and reloaded the Magnum, the heat from its use almost burning his hand. _

Hoping he was still hot on the trail, he ran ahead, looking for any sign of them. Judging from looks, the P level was in fact, a parking garage. Cars of various makes and models whizzed by Vincent in a blur as he ran. The driveway led off to the right, and as Vincent rounded the corner, he could see the top of the boy's head just before it disappeared into the ground. With a renewed burst of energy, he sprinted toward the open manhole. When he got there, he peered over the side and saw that it was a storm drain, and by the sounds of rushing water beneath him, it was overflowing. Not stopping to think, he went down the ladder. As he descended, he noticed a powerful stench of mildew and filth, attributed to the humidity of the storm drain. His feet landed on a slick stone surface, a thin stone path that lined both sides of the circular tunnel. In the middle was a roaring river of water. If anyone were to fall, they'd most likely meet a watery grave. Behind him was a grate that the water passed through. Sure enough, his logic was correct. Piled up on the grate were a couple of bodies, a Hunter and one of the SWAT "cleansers." Ahead of him, he could see the tiny figures of the two running up the stone passageway. Vincent resumed the pursuit, hoping he could find out what had happened to this island. 

*                      *                      *

He breathed in the cool cleaner air as he climbed out the other end of the storm drain. Looking around once again, he saw that he was on a new street, each side lined with houses. Apparently he had left the business district of the island, the drain leading him out to the residential areas. From the look of things, most of the houses had fallen to ruin, their windows boarded up; those that weren't were smashed. He heard the sound of a door closing behind him, alerting him to the children's position. His eyes saw a small house, and noticed that it contrasted all the other houses. The small abode, from the exterior perspective anyway, looked like it was maintained well. Also unlike the other houses on the dark street, no window was boarded up or broken. Surrounding the house was a picket fence; another sharp contrast to the somber setting of the street for it looked like it was just recently painted white. Judging by the sound of a closing door, he hypothesized that the children ran into there. He walked through the white fence up the cobblestone path, and reached for the door handle. To Vincent's surprise, the door opened and he let himself into a new world. He slowly shut the door behind him, hoping the two didn't hear him enter. 

At first glace of his new environment, Vincent noticed a stairwell going up. To its immediate left, a hallway led to some rooms further down. On both sides of Vincent were two rooms, one a living room and one a small dining room. Vincent quietly crept into the living room. Once again, he was taken aback by how well-furnished the house was, that sharp contrast ever present. It seemed like he was in a new realm of time and space, as if this house itself was sectioned off from the necropolis outside. He continued his quiet search, walking through a small study, a kitchen, the dining room, and finally back to where he was again. 

_If anywhere, they're up there. They have no other place to go. It's the end of the line. _

Slowly and carefully, he tried going up the set of stairs, but as if trying to warn the trapped children of his impending approach, the stairs seemed to creak and groan as loud as possible. 

_Someone upstairs doesn't like me…_

Sure enough, it had the desired effect. Directly above his head, he heard the sounds of running feet as they headed for a room in the opposite direction, proving his hypothesis. He no longer bothered with the slow approach. They knew he was there. He brazenly walked up the remaining stairs, turned the corner and walked down the hall toward the room where the steps led. His gun down, he walked into the room. From the look of it, this was a boy's room. There were some clothes on the floor, an unmade bed, and a closet off to his left. On the walls were partially torn posters, and ripped curtains draped the window, which was wide open. 

_Did they really escape out the window? This game of cat-and-mouse is getting mildly tedious. _

On his way to investigate the window, he stumbled, almost falling to the floor; tripping on an object partially hidden by the strewn clothing. Letting out a groan of frustration, he bent down and picked up the object, a small book. Opening the book, he saw the title page, written in someone's handwriting, "Lott's Diary." 
    
    **_*_**_September 10th_
    
    I saw some prisoners at the arcade today. They all had sleepy eyes. One of the girls even slavered. Some of the boys were glaring at me. They wore rugs and smelled rotten. Like dad and Commander Vincent told me, they are very different people from our Umbrella families.
    
    Dad told me that they bring them to this island so they can operate on them and make them into decent people. I think they are doing the right thing. I hope they will become decent people sometime soon.
    
    _October 15th_
    
    I heard Commander Vincent killed those people who tried to escape from the prison. I wonder how such a thing happened? I know they are inferior to us, but did we have to kill them? Is this what I believed in? Umbrella and my dad were supposed to help the inferiors by operating on them... Why did he kill them?
    
    _November 23rd_
    
    The city is in total panic! Monsters are everywhere and they are attacking people! Those Umbrella people who were very nice to me suddenly started attacking me. I need help! Please someone rescue me!
    
    _November 24th_
    
    My dad and my mom turned into monsters. One of the survivors told me that Commander Vincent turned the people into monsters. I can't trust anyone now. I have to survive and protect my sister Lily, no matter what! We have to escape from this city together!!*****

 _Fooled…deceived…poor boy…_

She watched the evil man search the room through a small opening in the closet door. Her heart was pounding, the sound of the rapid pulsing seeming like it echoed off the walls. It only added to her fear—she was certain that she would be given away just from the amplified beats. He saw him almost trip and fall over Lott's diary, and she stifled a chuckle. She watched him carefully, looking to see if was going to stay here or move out.

_Leave! Get out of here. Leave us alone!_

Suddenly she felt an itch in her nose, and immediately began to feel a sneeze coming on.

_No! No! Of all times…no! He'll know I'm here!_

It was growing inside her, and she knew it would be inevitable.

_Fuck.._

She opened her mouth, tried to stifle the sneeze, but nothing. It came out in full force, and as expected, he sharply turned in her direction, his eyes staring straight at her. He slowly walked toward the closet. Her heart felt as if it was going to burst with each step he took. In moments, she'd be dead.

_It's over. I'm sorry, Lott…_

She bundled herself in a ball and shut her eyes tight, waiting, waiting for the bullet that would kill her—

Vincent saw her on the floor scrunched in a tight ball, shaking with fear. His body immediately felt a wave of pity for her, and he knelt down next to her. 

"Don't worry, little girl. I won't hurt you," he said soothingly. 

The girl slowly lifted her head and looked at him with watery, bloodshot eyes. "You…won't?" 

"Not at all," he said reassuringly, lifting up her dirty face by the chin.

"My name is Lily. Lily Klein."

"My name is…Vincent," he said, his voice showing a hint of regret. 

"I know," she said softly. "My brother has told me about you."

"I'm guessing that's the boy who almost bashed my skull in," he said, a small grin on his face. 

She let out a small chuckle. "Yep, that would be Lott."

Vincent laughed. "Where is he, by the way?" 

She pointed one small finger toward the window. "He headed to the factory to find a way out. He'll come back and get me. He told me to stay here." Her voice grew worried. "But I'm scared. That factory has monsters everywhere and I'm afraid he'll get eaten and…" Vincent could see the tears welling up in her eyes. 

"Don't worry," Vincent reassured. He looked at her firmly. "Where is the factory?"

"When you leave the house, just take a left and go all the way to the end. It shouldn't be too long," she answered. 

"Thanks," he said, smiling. "I'll save your brother." This cheered Lily up a little, for she smiled too. He rose to his feet. "I don't know what kind of person I was in the past. Whatever it was, that isn't me now."

"Wait…before you go…" Lily interrupted.

"Yes?"

"Be…careful."

"I will. Listen to your brother's advice. Stay here."

"I will," she said softly. With a quick nod, he ran out of the room. Lily could hear him going down the stairs, followed by the opening and closing of the door. She crawled out of the small closet, where she got up and stretched for a few seconds. The young girl walked over to the open window and peered out, and saw a running Vincent heading in the direction of the factory, wielding a gun.

_Good luck. Be careful, both of you…_

A/N: How do we like the RES novelization to this point? Let me know. As it stands, I think there will be two more chapters before the RE: Survivor novelization ends, since by this point, he's getting into the factory—the last leg of the game. Then I think it will shift to Claire, I don't know. I'll go to where the story guides me. Hopefully I get to the 50,000 word mark with what plans I have left. **Chapter Ten **should be up in a few days. As always, drop me a review! 


	11. Revelation

Documents from RES are marked in ***.**

**Chapter Ten: Revelation**

            He had come out of the dimly lit cavern, up a flight of stairs after putting a cap on a few of the undead civilians, into a small clearing, a yard of sorts. The space was fenced in with stone walls. The yard was ornately decorated with a few small lavish stone-sculpted fountains, but all were running dry. Off to his left was a long building, possibly an extension of a mansion. The path that Vincent now stood on was cobblestone, and at first glance, he was slightly taken aback by the lushness of the place. Whoever lived here came into some money and liked to flaunt it, apparently. From this extension of the building were three doors, spaced evenly apart from each other, each of them having intricate carved designs into their wooden frames. About fifty yards directly ahead of him was another door, partially opened, leading into yet more uncharted territory. 

            Sensing no immediate danger and having no reference to where he was, he investigated the three doors to his left in order, only to find (in classic Resident Evil fashion) that all three of them were locked. Faced with no other possible option, he headed through the open door and was suddenly greeted when a wave of some liquid hit the wall to his left, just missing his face by inches. The acidic liquid was bubbling where it hit the wall, eating away at the stone. 

            _If I had taken one step more…_

            He looked to his right, and saw the creature that shot that spray. It was sliding slowly on the ground toward him, a writing green mass of what could have been plant life, its entire body slick with oozing virus. The top of the creature was a giant red throbbing mass of skin, possibly correlated to flower petals. Its large mouth was agape, looking like a giant Venus Fly Trap. Stemming from its giant mass of quivering poisonous skin were many flying green vine-like tentacles, ready to grab anything. Vincent stared in shock at the creature…and noticed in disbelief that there were _four_ of the creatures gliding toward him, leaving behind a slimy trail of viscous poisonous fluid filled with virus. The one closest let out some sort of screech. Moving as fast as he could, he ran out of the line of fire and fired his Magnum, the booming sound of the fire drowning out the screeching primal cries of the Ivy. 

            The hot bullet slammed into the pulpy live head of the creature, ripping it into flying pieces of wet skin and plant material, hitting the wall behind with wet slapping sounds. It deflated into a pile of dead flora amidst a pool of green liquid bubbling on the ground where the crumpled heap lay. He couldn't breath easy yet—he had made the mistake of running into a corner, where the other three were still closing in on him, the closest one about ten feet away, its tentacles almost in reach of the panicked pilot. Taking careful aim at the closest one, he fired directly into its open mouth just as it was about to launch another volley of acidic fluid. It ripped a giant hole in the head, sending a splay of torn slick skin everywhere before collapsing to the cobblestone path. 

            _Two more, just two more…_

            The one closest to the door ahead let out a cry and shot a stream of yellow acid directly at him. Vincent tried to dodge and fire, but he wasn't fast enough as he caught a little bit on his left arm, the bullet catching the leg of the creature, rendering it immobile. He let out a cry of pain, the liquid stinging his arm with a terrific pain that made him drop his gun. With his other hand, he clutched his hurting arm, wincing in pain as he inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. He pulled up his sleeve to see the damage done. Even though it was a small amount, it managed to eat straight through the parka sleeve, through his shirt sleeve onto his skin. He saw the impact on his forearm, a bright red rash where it immediately began to bubble and blister. With his uninjured hand, he pulled the Glock from its holster and fired pistol round after pistol round into the immobile creature, each bullet slicing into its pulpy throbbing head. It opened its mouth once again, and was greeted by a steady hail of bullet after bullet tearing into its large orifice of a mouth, until after almost ten bullets when it finally let out a cry of defeat before the figure slumped to the ground, riddled with bullet holes, green fluid filled with virus leaking from each wound. He placed the pistol back into the holster and picked up his Magnum to dispatch the last of the Ivy, still some distance away, and out of rage, fired, but came up empty as the sudden realization hit him. Kneeling, he placed the empty Magnum on the ground; he opened the chamber to reload. With his one free hand, he reached into his parka and pulled out six bullets, and reloaded. He closed the chamber and stood back up, the stinging pain taking precedence over the bruised side. It shot out another stream of hot acid, hitting the ground a few feet from Vincent, splashing onto his shoes. He could hear the hiss as the few drops bubbled on the leather, eating away at it. With one quick motion, he aimed and fired, sending the last of the Ivy to a quick death. 

            Slumping to the ground, he looked around at where he was. From the look of the variety of flora in this space, he concluded that it was a garden. The garden had a few stone sculptures, but unlike the other ones he saw in the yard, these had fallen into rubble as slabs of stone littered the ground around their respective bases. To Vincent's left, a little ways up was the only door, on which there was pieces of Ivy accompanied with its own dark shade of green fluid moving in a steady pace down the lavish looking door. To his right and straight ahead, he was surrounded by the same stone fortification. Attached to a spigot was a length of garden hose, the spigot knob showing signs of rust. He needed something, anything, to null the stinging pain of his blistered red forearm. He rose slowly to his feet once again, seeming like an immense effort, and his body was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion. Plodding slowly to the hose like a zombie, he lowered the revolver to the ground and used his free hand to attempt turning on the water. It wouldn't budge.

            "Come on, you fucker," Vincent said between short painful breaths. "I have no time for this." As if listening, the knob reluctantly turned and in a few seconds, Vincent saw water coming out the other end of the hose. Internally smiling, he rolled up his left sleeve, grabbed the end of the hose, and felt the water with one finger. It was cold. He looked at his arm once again, and saw that the rash was now swelling, the skin starting to crack and peel. 

            _This is…really…gonna hurt._

            He let the frigid water run onto the affected arm. He let out a giant scream of pain as the cold, clear water touched the pain, the immense stinging pain. It felt like someone was taking a knife and stabbing his arm over and over again, endlessly. He shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see what was happening to his ailing limb. He let the cold liquid run over the rash for a minute or so before he threw the hose off to the side. He opened them and clutched his arm. Not wanting to look, but knowing he'd have to, he looked at the result. The affected area was still red, but the swelling seemed to have been reduced somewhat. Several of the blisters had opened, releasing a sickly yellow fluid, pus-like. The pain had faded somewhat, but was probably attributed to the numbness of the freezing water. Having nothing to use as a bandage, he ripped off a part of the worn away sleeve and tied it around the rash. It wasn't sterile, but it would be the best thing to do, given his current situation. At least he could move his left arm again, albeit not too well. Before stepping through that door, he ejected the mostly empty Glock clip and put in another. With his pistol raised, he carefully stepped into the courtyard. 

            It had been a once palatial mansion, to be sure. Now, probably as a result of the events of late, it was slowly beginning to crumble and fall in on itself. What was once a lavish decorated place, the walls lined with oil paintings and tapestries, was no longer. Paintings and their frames lay on the ground, broken. Tapestries hung on the walls lazily, torn and partially burned. Walls were cracked and in some places lined with holes. The stairway upstairs was blown away near the top, making it impossible to get up to the second floor. Lott was hoping that the entrance to the underground lab was still safe, but before he checked, he looked around once more, checking for anything to aid him. Finding nothing but smashed walls, rubble, and shattered Ming vases, he checked behind the broken stairwell and saw the stairwell leading to the Basement 1, or B1, level of the underground Umbrella lab still intact. With his baseball bat raised, he slowly descended to the world below. 

            At the bottom, he noticed that he was in a hallway, lit by standard florescent bulbs in the ceiling. On the wall next to him, Lott clearly saw the Umbrella logo emblazoned on the wall, with the words "B1 LEVEL" written in large white type against the gray wall. About a couple hundred feet directly ahead of Lott, he saw a lift waiting. It was there where the hall took a turn to the left, leading to a power room. Lott had been here several times, for his father worked for Umbrella and often times his father would take him here. He walked slowly toward the lift, holding his bat in front of him like a sword. An eerie silence was prevalent throughout, except for the faint sounds of machinery. When he finally arrived to the lift, his ears suddenly picked up a new sound.

_Tic tic tic._

            Fear gripped the teen, and his heart began to quicken. He looked to his left, the direction of the sound, and saw something he never saw in his life. A large, dark green creature stepped into view, its skin reptilian in nature, scaly. It had a large flat skull with reptile-like eyes. Walking on large muscular legs, Lott thought that it was a powerful runner. Its abnormally long arms hung almost to the ground, and he noticed in horror that the feet and arms ended in thick pointed claws. Quickly, it turned and stared straight into the eyes of the frightened child. It let out a piercing screech before quickly galloping toward the boy, the distance between them closing fast. Out of pure fright, he let out a loud scream before ducking into the lift and quickly pressed a button. The sound of moving gears came to life as the lift headed down toward the B2 level, and at the sound of the started lift, the clawed aberration let out a sort of feral cry. He had managed to escape another near-death, this time from a new and unfamiliar creature. Lott had to survive so his sister could live. Suddenly, the lift stopped in mid-trip, almost to the bottom.

            "Damn it," he said to himself. Looking on the small control panel to the lift, a red light was blinking, signifying the power had been cut. "Typical." The lift stopped a few feet above the ground, giving Lott an opening just big enough for him to squeeze his way through. In a few seconds, he crawled out onto the B2 level and continued on, looking for the way to escape this nightmare once and for all. 

            With his ailing arm feeling just slightly better, he walked into the mansion, finally. He saw rubble in places on the tile floor, and once again noticed how richly decorated the place formerly was. Getting to the second floor was going to be impossible, for several stairs were taken out by whatever, and jumping across the gulf would be a death wish. Walking around the large space, he looked around for anything of use. His search proved fruitless, but he did find a stairwell going down from behind this stairwell. Suddenly, the sound of a boy's scream cut through the silence like a knife. 

            _Lott!_

            Something was down there. With his Magnum drawn he took one step down—and saw the dark green reptilian figure of the MA-121 Hunter come barreling up the stairs toward Vincent, its abnormal legs enabling it to go up several stairs at once. It would be on him in a matter of seconds. Vincent quickly fired, and it let out a piercing scream of agony as the bullet eviscerated its left leg, taking almost all of it in the process. The monster lost its balance and fell to the stairs with a loud _clang_ as it hit the metal stairway. It could not move. It screamed angrily, swiping at the air with one long arm and getting nothing but. Switching to the Glock, he fired a couple of rounds into its flat skull, creating new holes, taking chunks of skin with it. Blood poured out of its mangled face, and as it lay there dying, Vincent raised one foot and slammed it down hard into the creature's face, pushing it down the stairs. Its heavy body slammed each stair with a _clang, harder and harder until it hit the bottom. The creation lay there as a pool of dark crimson blood began to form beneath it. With his gun raised, he quickly went down the stairs. When he arrived, he saw the Hunter twitching involuntarily in death. For good measure, he fired one more pistol bullet into the crumpled heap. _

            "Ass," he said to the deceased being. As Vincent looked ahead, he saw the grayness of it all, and he saw the Umbrella logo on the wall next to him. 

            _Well, I finally found the lab. _

            Ahead of him some distance, he saw what might have been some form of transport, he couldn't tell. He ran down the hall, his footsteps the only ambient sound. When he arrived, he pressed the recall button. Nothing happened. On the panel, he saw a flashing red light, and next to it were the words "power loss." He looked down the lift shaft, and saw the lift and a small opening big enough for a boy to climb through. 

            _That's probably where he went, too. I can't fit through that. I'll have to find some way to activate it or find another way around._

To his left the hallway continued, where it would take another left. With no other option, he ran down the hallway, his pistol raised in anticipation. The hall ended with an open door marked "Power Room," and he entered. An acrid smell of rot entered his nostrils and he saw why quickly. In the corner directly across from his position, two zombie scientists were chowing down on—

            …_a human…_

            Before the two even detected his presence, he fired several Glock bullets into their backs, the blood staining the white of their lab coats as the bullets sailed through rotted skin. After a few seconds, both of them were put down, the deep crimson red of precious blood forming a puddle on the white tiled floor. Now free of danger, at least temporarily, he scanned the room, and as the name suggested, along the walls were power grids with lights showing places where power went. In the center of the room was a square table with a few chairs. The only thing on the table was a piece of paper. So Vincent read:
    
    ***August 5, 1998**
    
    I can't stand it anymore! I have to take the subjects to the operating table and sever their skulls to extract a part of their brain. I do this over and over, day after day...it is awful. Guilt stays with me all the time, even after I go to bed.
    
    Commander Vincent instructs us..."Do not see them as humans. They are just raw material we use to create Tyrants with." But it is we who cut their skulls. I can never consider them as just raw materials. They are humans just
    
    like we are.
    
    I asked Commander Vincent about ways to reduce their suffering, but he ignored my request, saying that by using anesthetics, pure Beta Hetero Nonserotonin cannot be extracted. Even if it is the company's orders, I don't believe what we are doing is ethical... I'm sure that I'll be sent to the worst possible place, when I die.
    
    Or perhaps should I say, I'm already there...*********

            A wave of nausea came over him as he read the factory worker's diary excerpt. 

            _I ordered this?! That is totally sick and cruel. Cutting into people's brains to extract this…Beta Hetero Nonserotonin? What the hell is that? I must have been one sick motherfucker. _

            He threw the note down in disgust, and looked at the power grids once again. As expected, he saw a red light at the location of the B1-B2 lift shaft. Looking below, he saw a control panel containing many switches, similar in setup to a circuit breaker. Searching for the switch to activate the lift, he found it with no problem. The corresponding light on the grid switched from red to green, rendering it operative. His objective done, he ran out of the power room toward the lift, waiting for him at B1. Climbing on, he pressed a button and the lift began the trip down. 

            Giant glass storage tanks surrounded Lott on all sides. From Lott's observation, this looked like the part of the lab that Umbrella did its mutagenic research on plants. Looking inside each storage tank, Lott saw hideous creatures. Inside the tanks were giant green masses, every one of them having a giant red head with vine-like tentacles. Each floated inside their storage fluid, dormant apparently. 

            _What kind of research did Umbrella do here? I never knew about this…Dad didn't tell me anything about this…_

            Lott walked through the door into another lab, once again filled with storage tanks containing the strange plant mutations. In this room stood a few lab tables, operating tables stained with blood. Suddenly a wave of nausea churned inside of Lott as he saw a gruesome sight, one even more grotesque than these Ivy. On one of the operating tables lay a human lying face down. His skin was peeled back, exposing skull. A needle was planted firmly inside the skull, penetrating into the soft inner pulp of the brain. Dried blood had poured down the prisoner's neck, staining the person's prison clothes. Eyes wide in fear, he slowly walked up to the dead patient, his bat raised in case it moved. Slowly he pulled the needle out and tossed it to the floor, shattering it. Finding the courage in him, he turned the body over—

            --and he was face to face with a girl, her skin a frigid blue. Her eyes were wide and rolled into the back of her head, showing a glazed over sickly white. Her mouth was frozen in an open "O" of pain. Lott gasped involuntarily.  

            _She can't be much older than me…_

            The top part of her prison outfit was ripped open, revealing a white undershirt. Blood had seeped through the back, a dark crimson color covering her right breast. Suddenly, it all hit him in a thundering revelation that rocked his mind.

            _This is where all those inmates were taken!  This is what happened to those that were selected. This…was what became of those who would go and never return…my god…what did they do here? What kind of sick asshole would do something like this?!_

            Lott felt one salty tear roll down the side of his face as a tumultuous wave of feelings—feelings of angst, pity, remorse, and anger swept through him. As he stared at the once beautiful teenage girl in front of him, he gave way to a silent cry and he kneeled to the ground, his hands covering his face. 

            After a few minutes, he rose to his feet and looked once again at her, her straight brown hair neatly down the sides of her face. Lott took one hand and passed it over her face, closing her eyes. 

            _Rest in peace…_

            The sound of breaking glass behind him snapped him out of his mourning. 

            _What the…?_

Suddenly he heard the sounds of more glass shattering, and as ran back into the first room, his heart sank. Several of the glass tanks had shattered, and to his horror, the plant-like "Ivy" creatures began to make their way toward him, blocking any chance of escape. He was, in every sense of the word, trapped.

            _Fuck!_

One of them opened their abnormal mouths and shot a stream of yellow fluid at the panicked boy, but to Lott's advantage, it missed, hitting the glass tank behind him. He stared in disbelief as the yellow solution bubbled and hissed on the glass, weakening it enough for one ugly green tentacle to shoot through. 

            _Oh, no…_

            Containment fluid began pouring into the second lab where Lott stood, and suddenly the tank behind Lott broke, sending gallons of clear containment liquid out over the floor. In seconds, the slick figure of another throbbing green mass came out of the tank, adding to the scrum. There was no way he could run through the sea of plant mutations. He was trapped. With his bat raised, he let out a scream, something like a battle cry before he began to bash the closest one with his bat.

            As he was investigating the Generator Room of the B2 level, Vincent heard yet another scream. Quickly, he dashed out of the room and ran down the hall, toward the source of the scream. He entered the first open door he saw only to almost slip and fall onto the slick floor. Quickly looking around the room, he saw several broken storage tanks, pieces of shiny broken glass shards littering the tile floor. His Magnum raised, he moved as fast as he could, walking as he heard the sounds of glass crunching beneath him. Another scream as Vincent walked into the next room—and saw a panicked Lott swinging his bat in a wide arc in front of him. Vincent saw the trapped boy, his eyes wide with sheer panic as five of the Ivy creatures closed in around him. In a few seconds, they'd be in their grasp. For a split second, Lott had made eye contact with Vincent, saw his Magnum raised.

            _Oh, no…now he's__ come to kill me…_

"_Get down!" _

            Instinctively, Lott dove to the ground, and suddenly the room filled with a thundering sound as bullets sailed through the air. Lott scrunched up in a tight ball as the plant creatures seemed to explode one by one, sending chunks of green fluid and body parts everywhere. Tentacles flew everywhere as chunks of soft inner body pulp rained down on the scared child. Five bullets later, an unusual silence invaded the room. Sensing that it was all over, Lott looked up to see Vincent lowering his powerful gun, and felt himself drenched. He looked at himself, and saw he was covered in green fluid, his hair matted down to his head. All around him were pieces of body parts from the creatures that were about to kill him. Lott saw him walk toward him, and he squatted down next to a relieved Lott, grinning.

            "Thank…you…very much," Lott said slowly. 

            "No problem," Vincent began. "Your sister told me that you were here and—"

            "Lily?" Lott's eyes grew wide. "Lily told you?"

            Vincent smiled. "Yes. Don't worry. She's safe back at the house. She told me that you were here trying to find an escape."

            "You're sure she's safe?" 

            "Positive. I told her I'd get you." Lott gave a small smile. "Listen…I don't know how to explain this…"

            "Hmm?" Lott asked, curious.

            "I may have been a very bad man…but I've put that all behind me. I'm…sorry. For everything. All of this…was my fault." Vincent bowed his head down in shame. Lott just stared at him blankly. 

            "Well, I have something to tell you as well," Lott said softly.

            Vincent looked up.

            "You…are not Vincent Goldman."

            _What?!_

"What?" Vincent asked, confused.

            "Your name is Ark Thompson," Lott continued. "You are not the real Vincent. You had come to the island as a spy and posed as Vincent. I found this out when I listened in on a conversation between you and Andy, the sewer manager. After that, I had told the real Vincent about your arrival. I don't know where the real Vincent is."

            _Ark__ Thompson? Spy? What is going on here? I'm…not Vincent? _

            Suddenly he remembered the name he saw on the dog tags in the scientist's hand. 

            _Those were…mine?_

"Try to remember…" Lott's voice trailed off. Pushing aside the confusion, Vincent got back to the matter at hand. "Lily told me that you were looking for an escape route. Where?"

            "There is a railway system nearby." Lott replied. "If my memory is correct, you get there by taking a lift down to the B4 level." 

            "That's all I need to know. I will get that set up. You go back to your house and get your sister."

            "But—" Lott tried to cut in.

            Vincent raised a finger to silence him. "I told your sister I'd bring you safely back. She's worried about you." Vincent pulled his Glock out and placed it in Lott's hand. 

            "Do you know how to use it?" 

            Lott looked at the pistol for a few seconds, checking it out. "I'm sure it's self-explanatory." 

            Vincent chuckled and gave him his remaining few clips. 

            "What about you?" Lott asked. Vincent held up his Magnum. "I'll be fine. That gun you have there is more powerful than that bat. _Do not_ waste all those bullets. Use it only when necessary. Now go." Lott nodded, and quickly got up. He ran for the door until he stopped and looked back at Vincent.

            "Thanks." He was gone. Vincent could hear the sound of a door closing. A minute later, Vincent rose to his feet and reloaded his mostly empty Magnum before heading back out into the hall. He took a left and saw the lift waiting for him at the end of the hallway. He took a few steps and suddenly stopped. With a blinding flash, it happened.  Instantly, a wave of memories came flooding back into his mind with lightning speed. 

            _Leon__…Leon Kennedy…had asked me to come to the island to investigate the cause of a falsified prison report. He had suspected a viral outbreak on the island and requested I check it out…and…I posed as Vincent Goldman to do so! That's how I met the sewer manager…and according to Lott, he eavesdropped on that conversation and reported me to Vincent…_

                                                *                      *                      *

            Ark had furiously rummaging through the contents of Vincent's desk, searching for anything to incriminate him. He found a Magnum, and several cases of bullets. The entire room looked like it took extensive fire damage not too long ago. He didn't see him creep up behind him. Suddenly he felt a fist slam down hard on his back, knocking him down, his head slamming into the desk. Ark rolled over, his eyes wide as he stared into the wild face of Vincent Goldman, his blond hair strewn wildly about his head. His teeth are gritted and his face in anger. The two wrestled on the ground, Vincent trying to aim his gun at Ark's head.

            "_DIE!!!" Vincent yelled. "__You spy! __I'll kill you!"_

            "Not today!" Ark cried out before landing a punch straight into the scientist's face. He fell backwards off Ark, giving the spy enough time to grab his Glock and run out of the office, down the elevator. Vincent got up a few seconds later and screamed in rage before chasing after him. He arrived late, for the elevator door closed. He pounded the door with his fists but to no avail. He slammed the recall button and waited. He'd get that spy if it were the last thing he'd do.

            Ark ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He came out onto the street, and his mind searched, trying to remember where the helipad was. He ran down the street to his right, away from the underground labs, toward the city entrance where his helicopter was waiting for him. He looked behind him, and saw an enraged Vincent several hundred behind him. Ark heard a gunshot behind him. He glanced quickly behind and fired his gun in response. Missing, he saw that Vincent was gaining on him. Straight ahead, maybe a thousand feet away, he saw the helicopter exactly where he left it. 

            _Almost…there…_

            Another shot. Ark felt that bullet whiz by his ear, feeling the displaced air as the bullet just missed. He quickly turned and fired another shot. He saw the result as Vincent suddenly clutched his shoulder in pain as the bullet sliced through, enabling his gun to fly out of his hand. With his one free hand, he snatched the gun out of the air, and he let out a cry of pain and kept advancing, his resolve unwavering. Ark fired again, missing once more, and realized that he was empty. Still advancing toward the chopper, he ejected the empty magazine and replaced it with a full clip. 

            _So close…_

            Glancing behind him once more, he saw Vincent closer than before. In another minute, he'd be on him. Finally Ark arrived at the chopper. He ran around to the pilot seat and activated the chopper. He felt the aircraft coming to life as the helicopter blades began to turn. Suddenly, Vincent threw open the cockpit door and clawed his way to the pilot's seat, grabbing Ark by the dog tags. His hands rose to his neck as the chain was choking him, depriving him of precious air. Vincent dragged him to the back of the chopper, and his body hit the floor with a _thud._

"You're not getting away from me this time," Vincent seethed. 

            Ark gagged as Vincent pulled tighter on the dog tags. With his fading strength, he slammed the barrel of the Glock into Vincent's head, and he let out a cry. Vincent lost his grip and the dog tag chain broke in his hand. Vincent fell out of the cockpit onto the ground, clutching Ark's dog tags. Ark climbed back into the pilot seat and pulled back the lever. He felt the chopper jerk suddenly as the chopper began to rise off the ground, breathing a sigh of relief as he was finally leaving. A few feet off the ground, he heard a scream followed by the chopper leaning suddenly to the right. Ark looked behind him, and saw to his horror the head of Vincent. He grunted as he tried to pull himself up into the cockpit.

            "_Thought you saw the last of ME?!" Vincent rasped. Ark flew the chopper forward, gaining altitude. With one hand he fired his gun at the madman, and missed. The helicopter flew quickly over the destruction, its silhouette clear against the moonlit, starry sky. Fire broke out in sporadic patches everywhere. Zombies were running amok all throughout the once prosperous island. _

            "_You're not going to get away!" screamed Vincent. His right shoulder was covered in dark blood, latching on to the bottom of the chopper, struggling to climb on board and kill him. Ark banked the chopper sharply to the left, hoping to make him lose his balance. To Ark's dismay, the attempt failed. Out of pure intent to kill, he aimed his gun and fired. His bullet sliced into something volatile and suddenly the cockpit of the chopper rocks violently in an explosion, the force of it knocking Vincent off the leg of the chopper. He fell toward the abyss, letting out an ear-piercing scream as he plummeted, accelerating at thirty feet per second per second toward the chaos. Panicked, Ark lashed at the controls, panicked, as the helicopter spun out of control, falling also toward the same chaos as Vincent. He saw the ground looming up at him quickly, and in seconds, the falling chopper hit the ground with a deafening crash. Metal quickly crushed as the bird became nothing more than a rumpled pile of sheet metal, an aluminum can. Glass shards flew everywhere as the dead chopper kept drilling into the ground, seemingly not satisfied with gravity's dominion. All things must stop. An object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. _

The pilot rolled out of the ruined aircraft, onto the ground below, his face bleeding from an open gash on his forehead. Ark saw nothing but chaos and disarray all around him. Shaken, he climbed slowly to his feet, but as he did, his vision became blurred. The blurriness gave way to an increasing blackness, and suddenly the ground loomed up once again, and he was falling, falling with it until his consciousness faded away.

                                                *                      *                      *

            Ark's face had an expression as if he just acquired a tremendous idea. Finally realizing who he really was, he had remembered that Vincent was dead. Feeling an extreme sense of happiness and confidence, he walked over to the lift to take him to B3. As soon as he hit the down button, the hall suddenly filled with flashing red lights, and loud obnoxious sirens blared everywhere. A female voice came over the public address system: "Warning. The self-destruct sequence has been activated. Repeat: the self-destruct sequence has been activated. This sequence will not be aborted. All personnel should head to the railway center located at the B4 level of the lab. All personnel evacuate immediately. All doors will now be unlocked in order to expedite the evacuation process. Repeat: All personnel should head to the railway center located at the B4 level of the lab."

            "Fuck! Now?" Ark cried in disgust.

            As if answering, the female V.O. continued: "Ten minutes until detonation."

A/N: Whee! Now comes the final showdown in the next chapter. However, it's not the end of the story, bwahaha! How's the story thus far? Leave a review! Soon I will have **Chapter Eleven** posted!


	12. Ten Minutes until Detonation

Documents from RES are marked in *.

**Chapter Eleven: Ten Minutes until Detonation**

"Absolutely typical," Ark muttered to himself. 

            _Ten minutes to get to the railway station…god, I hope Lott and Lily make it in time…_

            Not waiting for the lift to fully stop, he jumped off onto the white tile floor of the B3 level. Running, having almost no idea where he was going, he burst through a set of double doors where he was greeted by another of the "Mr. X" units. Looking directly at him through those dark slits for eyes, he walked in that all-too-familiar slow cadence toward him. Not even going to waste time or bullets, he easily ran past him with ample room through another door, where two of the familiar reptilian MA-121 Hunters noted his presence and began to run towards him, letting out the familiar nail-scratching cry, drowning out the obnoxious sirens wailing throughout. Before they could leap into the air, two powerful Magnum bullets were fired, catching one dead in the face, the impact caving in the flat skull, sending skin splatting against the metallic gray wall. It fell to its knees before collapsing, pouring its contaminated blood out onto the floor. The other bullet caught the other in its left side, blowing away a massive chunk of skin, revealing the soft red inner striated muscle beneath. It immediately sent the thing down, screeching and wailing. It wouldn't die immediately, but it would bleed to death. The creature tried to move across the floor, but to no avail. The corridor hung a right, then a left to a door. 

            He burst through the door, aware that the precious seconds were ticking away. Entering the B3 E Area hall, he suddenly came to an intersection—the hall split into two directions—straight ahead to unfamiliar territory, or to his left, again unfamiliar territory. On a whim, he turned to his left, down another hallway to another set of double doors, hoping to find the lift to take him to B4—and he ended up in a large room with scientific instruments, computers, lab tables and computers. Straight ahead, there was something floating in a vat. Walking closer, he saw that a multitude of wires stemmed from the rear of the storage tank, attached to a set of computer monitors, looking like they were monitoring vital stats. The new creature looked nothing like anything Ark had seen yet.

            "Nine minutes until detonation."

            It was roughly the size of a teenage boy, maybe Lott's size. It was humanoid in body structure, but had blue skin, and there was no visible determination of gender. What struck Ark the most was its exposed abnormally large heart located in the center of its chest, the heart beating slowly. On its left arm, it sported short claws. On one of the computer terminals nearby, he spotted a piece of paper with someone's handwriting on it.
    
    *****How to extract Beta Hetero Nonserotonin:
    
    To establish a system of mass-producing Tyrants, it is absolutely necessary that during the process of gene cultivation, a large amount of pure Beta Hetero Nonserotonin must be injected.
    
    This material is one of the human brain's elements. It has been revealed that the material is mainly produced by the pituitary of people at the latter period of developing their secondary sex characteristics.
    
    Also, medical data shows that this cerebral material is produced in response to the excessive secretion of noradrenalin that is produced from the locus ceruleus in the brain stem. Noradrenalin is the cerebral material secreted when people are in a state of extreme tension or
    
    fear. As the Beta Hetero Nonserotonin only exists in active cells, you can't extract it from a dead brain.
    
    Thus, the best way to extract the material is to cut open the subject's skull without using anesthesia. This will cause excessive secretion of noradrenalin. The pituitary is then ripe for immediate extraction.
    
    Vincent Goldman, Commander
    
    Tyrant Plant on Sheena Island*****

            _What the hell kind of creature is this?_

He looked once again at the creature floating in the containment fluid and it finally dawned on him.

            _So this is the fabled Tyrant class…created from the innocent teenagers on the island. What other sick experiments did they do here?_

            The female V.O. cut through the air once again. "Eight minutes until detonation." Seeing nothing else here, he ran out of the Tyrant Lab and headed into the hall, taking a left into another room filled with control panels, security monitors, and computer terminals, a sort of control room. He ran across the room to the door on the other side, and finally saw it. The lift to the B4 level shined like a beacon in Ark's mind. A wave of relief swept through him as he ran toward the end of the hall. 

            _Almost there…escape is just feet away--_

            When suddenly a loud bullet, sounding like a Magnum, was fired, missing Ark. Stopped in his tracks, he quickly spun around to see the gunman—and saw a huge, bulking figure fill the doorway from which Ark had just came. He was wearing a dark black and blue uniform with the word SWAT emblazoned on his chest. Humanoid in body structure, Ark instantly recognized him as the commander of the "Cleaners" he saw shortly after the helicopter crash, hiding in the arcade. 

            "Don't you even think about it," the commander said. "Put the gun down. _NOW!" Hesitantly, Ark slowly placed his own Magnum down. _

            "There's a good boy," the commander said through raspy breathing. "_HANDS UP!" He barked. Slowly Ark raised his hands in the air, despite that nagging stinging pain in his left arm. With his Magnum aimed at the spy's head, he continued. _

"Well, well, we finally meet. Personally, I'm surprised you're still alive. I thought you'd be long dead."

"Guess I'm just that good," Ark sneered.

"_SHUT UP! You've just been a real nuisance. I ordered my troops to cleanse the area of the contamination. I meant __every word of it," he said through gritted teeth, the last four words coming out very slow and deliberate. _

"By that, do you mean kill off any and all witnesses?!" Ark shot back, his gaze unwavering. 

The commander chuckled. "You catch on quick, boy. Oh, how I'm going to enjoy killing you once and for all."

"Seven minutes until detonation." 

"Hear that?" Ark yelled. "Seven minutes until this place becomes nothing more than a pile of demolished rubble."

The commander let out a hearty laugh. "I have an evac chopper waiting just outside the facility. Your dead body will burn with all the rest of them! You will—ack—ugh…_nooooo! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Ark saw to his amazement as several sharp claws penetrated cleanly through the chest of the commander, dripping with pieces of heart and vibrant red blood. He heard the sounds of ripping flesh and uniform as the commander let out a scream of sheer agony as he met his quick demise. With one deft motion, the claw pulled out of the dead man's chest. Dropping the loaded gun, he fell to the floor, forming a pool of his own blood in the process. The bulking figure of the commander gave way to—the creature that Ark just saw in the lab, the Tyrant, free from the containment tank. _

_The bad guy always talks too much…and always dies by some unforeseen enemy. Funny how that works. _

Glaring straight at Ark, the teenage-sized Tyrant glared hard at Ark, its heart wildly beating, the veins and arteries pulsing with vibrant life. It began to advance very slowly toward Ark, its movements slow as a result of a long confinement. 

_While I don't want to…I must…_

Quickly picking up his Magnum, he took aim at the unusually large heart and fired. The hot slug slammed straight into one of the Tyrant's arms. It staggered for a second, the shock of impact forcing it back a step or two. Other than that, it seemed unfazed and continued its advance toward Ark. Another booming shot fired, this one slamming straight into its massive heart. Blood shot out in a wide ark in front of the Tyrant as it let out a cry of pain. Not stopping, Ark let fly another powerful bullet into the face of the teenaged Tyrant, taking a generous chunk of its pale blue skin with it, revealing white skull beneath. Nevertheless, it advanced toward Ark with the same slow speed. His arm stinging like the sensation of a thousand needles simultaneously stabbing him, he tried to steady his shaking hand to get a good aim on the abnormal growth of his heart, which was beginning to spasm. He fired another, hoping in the split second it would connect. The bullet sailed straight into the heart, shattering it on impact, releasing a splay of blood that shot out the back of the abomination, coating the walls nearby with slick red fluid. It let out a gurgle, coughing up dark blood as it tried to advance, staggering toward him. Its deep black eyes widened in pain as blood began to well up in his eyes. Overcome and crippled, the Tyrant let out one last cry before collapsing just several feet in front of the dead "Cleaner" commander, a crumpled bloody heap on the floor. Its pale blue skin almost matched the color of the floor, now becoming stained in more blood. 

The female voice cut through the air again. "Six minutes until detonation."

With no time to savor the victory, Ark turned and ran to the lift, reloading in the process. He slammed the button on the lift and headed down to the B4 Subway level. He wouldn't see the bloody pile of Tyrant slowly rise to its feet. Roaring, it turned and left the hall, stepping on the twitching body of the commander. 

He landed on a dimly lit floor, leading into a wide passageway. Running toward the clearing, he heard a series of shrill cries as four of the "Cleaners" burst out from the shadows, their long arms flailing in the air and quickly heading toward Ark. 

_Oh, jeez, not more of you. Now you're just a nuisance. _

Running out onto the platform, he fired one bullet into the fray. To his shock, the one bullet caught two of them dumb enough to be in the line of fire. Writhing in pain as the searing bullet ripped into the two, they turned to a pile of powder on the stone platform. Unfortunately, Ark had put himself in a position where one was heading for him and one was coming from behind. Suddenly Ark heard a gunshot, from a new gun. Looking toward the source of the sound, he heard another shot being fired, and just like that, the other two "Cleaners" went down. His mind spinning, he looked all around for the source of the gunman who saved his life. 

"Over here!" A familiar voice yelled. Spinning to his left, he saw a waving Lott, accompanied by his sister, Lily, in front of a door into the train. Running to them, Ark just looked at Lott and smiled. 

"Where did you learn to shoot that thing?" He smiled.

"I have no idea. A little bird told me," Lott joked. 

"Thanks a lot," Ark said. His tone turned serious. "Look, this place is gonna blow in a few minutes. Let's get on this train and get the heck out of here." 

"First you have to pull the lever to open the gate," Lott said, pointing to a wall dead ahead of Ark. 

Ark didn't even give it a second thought. He ran toward the wall, near the front of the railway and pulled the lever, opening the gate. 

"Get on!" Ark yelled. Lott nodded and boarded the train, almost dragging his younger sister onboard.  

"Five minutes until detonation."

Ark entered from the car closest to the front, and bolted to the front car. Frantically searching for some way to start the locomotive, he finally found the large red button marked "ignition." Slamming the button down, he could feel the shaking of the railway as the engine slowly whined to life. With a sudden jerk, it began to move forward out of this place, out of this nightmare, toward safety. He looked at his watch.

_Dawn will be here shortly. Hopefully we can get out of here in less than five minutes._

                                    *                      *                      *

The train came slowly to a stop at another landing. Ark looked down at his watch again, noticing he had just over three minutes until detonation. As soon as the train stopped, Lily, Lott, and himself ran out of the train, their footsteps echoing in the dim platform as they found another lift. Not big enough to hold all three, Ark decided that he'd go up, and then the two children. Once all were safely up, Ark looked at his new surroundings. The train ride had taken them to a large space, a heliport, and to his relief, he saw a helicopter in the center of the launch pad, off. Taking a quick look, he saw that the chopper was equipped with several missiles and a couple of aircraft Gatling guns, a military chopper. Without any words, Lott and Lily both ran for the chopper, Ark following. As soon as the two children entered the helicopter, the ground beneath them shook slightly, a mild tremor. The two kids let out a cry of fear and held each other for dear life.

_No…you can't blow up yet. We still have two and a half minutes…don't you explode ahead of schedule!_

Before Ark could join them, a huge misshapen figure hurtled into the ground several feet away from him. It slowly rose to its feet, and Ark stared in shock as he instantly recognized the figure—as tall as Lott, pale blue skin now spattered with blood, humanoid figure, mangled heart—

_The Tyrant has returned to finish us off…_

As it was rising to its feet, its skin began to bubble and hiss, beginning its transformation process. Ark could hear the sounds of skin ripping and bone locking as the figure rapidly grew at an exponential rate, becoming taller than Ark. Powerful muscles instantly grew where its calves were located, and the arms grew to more than double their original width, as rippling muscle took the place of skin. Its original short claw grew long and razor-sharp, capable of slicing anything with great ease. The abnormal heart grew to double its original size, and Ark saw it throbbing and beating at a regular pace. 

_Oh…shit…_

It stared at Ark as if to say, "come and get me." The deep pits for eyes stared hard at a surprised Ark. 

"Shoot!" Lott cried.

_Two minutes until detonation._

Snapping back into reality, he ran away from the chopper, hoping to lead the towering creation away from the two defenseless children. He fired two bullets in rapid succession, and they found their mark in the huge, thick arm, ripping chunks of pulsing, striated muscle along with skin. Suddenly, the massive Tyrant bent down low like a football player and lunged at Ark with incredible speed, closing the gap between the two in less than a second. His huge slicing claw swooped down to tear Ark a new one—and came up empty as the claw sliced through the tarmac of the heliport, showering sparks. Ark had dived out of the way, just missing dismemberment by a foot at most. Hitting the ground, he quickly got back up and ran away from the B.O.W., who was quickly getting up, and walking toward him slowly on thick legs. 

_Holy…fucking…shit…_

            Firing and running away at the same time, he still was managing to keep the Tyrant away from the helicopter. Another three bullets flew through the air, one of them missing, sailing into the stone wall. The other two slammed into the upper torso, one in the chest, ripping away the skin and muscle beneath, and one into the pumping heart, launching a splay of dark red, almost black blood into the monster's face. It looked like that was to no avail as the Tyrant ran at him again, the claw coming up for a slice—and just barely connected with Ark as the claw caught the right sleeve of the parka, slicing neatly through the shirt beneath, which was all that happened, for the bulky arm hit Ark on the non-bruised side, sending him flying into the air once again, similar to the episode with the Mr. X duo in the nightclub. He let out a cry of pain as he landed once again on the bruised side, sending a new wave of pain through his body, rendering him temporarily immobile. Ark lifted his head in the direction of the Tyrant, saw his face gazing into his own. In no time, the creature was walking in the similar pace of Mr. X toward him, his massive feet slamming the tarmac. With his last bullet in the chamber, Ark aimed and fired, the bullet slicing cleanly through the bulbous heart, through skin, bone, and muscle.         It stopped in its tracks, and let out a roar of pain. While it stood there staggering, Ark slowly attempted to get up, trying to overcome the massive pain in his side. He could faintly hear the sounds of the two children screaming at him to hop on the chopper and leave the nightmare forever. He began to hobble toward the open cockpit until he heard another bellowing roar from the monster. Ark looked behind him, ignoring the pleas and cries of the children, and reloaded his trusted Magnum, wanting to put an end to this once and for all. The Tyrant stood there, kneeling, as he began to undergo another transformation. His pale blue skin began to bubble once again as sudden huge growths sprang forth out of his arms, legs, and chest area. He grew once again, more outward than upward, giving him at least double his previous mass. His claws on his arm grew to over than double their previous length, almost reaching maybe eight feet, almost reaching to Ark's position. Bones and skin grew in places where there wasn't any, and after maybe twenty seconds at most, it was complete. Now it was this massive aberration. It let out an animal roar that rocked the heliport, eliciting screams from the two children inside the chopper. It began to lumber towards Ark, moving very slowly indeed. Ark understood the gravity of the situation. 

            _For once, the Tyrant's mutations seem to work against it. By transforming, it has lost its speed significantly. It can barely move at all. _

He looked down at his watch once again. _One minute to detonation_.

            Almost giddy with relief, he reloaded his Magnum, placing six new bullets into the chamber before slamming it shut. Taking aim at the writhing mass of muscle and flesh, he stood his ground and fired. Again. Again. And another. Another. Each bullet ripped into the giant mass, plugging bullet after ripping bullet into the gigantic build. Each one weakened the monster further and further, until finally on the sixth powerful shot, he fell to his knees, blood pouring out from massive open wounds on the body. He collapsed on the launch pad, a bloody mess on the floor. Ark could hear the sick squelch of exposed muscle as the creature fell in a pool of its own life blood. The Tyrant was no more. Now the Tyrant was no longer a threat, Ark had about thirty seconds to get out of there. Hastily running into the chopper as fast as his aching body could allow, he climbed into the pilot seat, almost tripping on a rocket launcher on the cockpit floor, and fired up the 'copter, its blades beginning to whirl into life. In a few seconds, Ark grabbed the lever, and looked back at the two children.

            "Hold on tight! This is going to be a quick exit!" The two were firmly fastened to their seats in the cockpit as tightly as they could. Ark pulled back the lever and the chopper jerked off the launch pad and flew into the air, finally leaving, escaping the nightmare forever. As the chopper rose over what was about to become ground zero, Ark breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at his watch.

            _Ten._

_            Nine._

_            Eight._

_            Seven._

_            Six._

_            Five._

_            Four._

_            Three._

_            Two._

_            In one._

_            Zero._

At zero, a series of hidden, interconnected explosive charges connected electronically, and like a domino effect, the entire underground lab exploded floor by floor, ending with the heliport. A giant fireball of bright orange and yellow filled the sky as a tremendous sound accompanied the blast, utterly destroying the Sheena Island Umbrella facility and all that remained inside its walls. Ark, Lott, and Lily had managed to acquire a minimum safe distance away in those short seconds. The final explosion devastated the remainder of what was left of Sheena Island. 

            "We made it," Lott said, sighing.

            "We did—aah!" Lily suddenly screamed as the chopper shook wildly, pitching into a nosedive. 

            "Hold on!" Ark screamed in shock. He pulled back the control lever, aligning the chopper true. Suddenly he saw something climbing up the chopper to his right, climbing on board. 

            "Lott, Lily, get up here! Lott, pilot the helicopter?"

            "_What?!" Lott cried. "You expect me to pilot _this?!_"_

            "Just _do it or we all die!" Ark ordered. _

            "_I can't! I don't know the first thing about piloting an aircraft!" Lott screamed back._

            "Fine…" Ark muttered. The stowaway had pulled himself into view—and Ark could not believe his eyes. 

            _No…no…you can't be serious!_

            Pulling itself toward the cockpit was the oh-so-familiar form of the gargantuan Tyrant, trying to pull itself on board to finish what it was designed to do—kill. With one mighty fist, it pounded the passenger side of the cockpit, bending the sheet metal, conforming it to the immense fist shape of the mutation. Lily let out a shrill childlike girl scream, startling Ark. 

            "Do you mind?" Ark yelled at Lily. "Everyone, hold on tight! I'm taking this bird for a spin!" Ark quickly turned the steering mechanism hard to the right, and suddenly the chopper shifted sharply to the right, hoping to lose the Tyrant, hoping to make him lose his grip and fall to the ocean below. Quickly he brought the chopper back to level, hoping. The bird dipped to the right again as the Tyrant lost his grip—and held on with both hands at the landing "feet" of the chopper. He wouldn't be able to get back up—he was much too big. Despite his huge, muscular build, his arms wouldn't be able to lift him back up. Because of this, an idea suddenly led to another bright idea that flashed like a neon sign in his mind.

            _If I bank the chopper to the left enough, it'll put him in line with the missiles on the exterior of the chopper. I can fire the missile. As a result, the missile will send him flying away, and then I can fire another missile to hit him, and he will finally be destroyed, once and for fucking all. _

"Lott, get up here in the seat next to me!" Ark ordered. "I need your help! Don't worry, you won't have to fly the chopper!" Quickly, Lott unbuckled his safety belt and moved his way to the passenger seat next to Ark, fastening himself in.

            "What are you going to do?" Lott asked loudly over the roar of the helicopter blades.

            "I'm going to do the same thing that I just did, but in the opposite direction. See this joystick-looking lever with the little red button right here?" Lott found it directly in front of him. 

            "Found it!" Lott responded.

            "Good. I'm gonna bank this bird sharply to the left. On my signal, push that little red button to the right. That's gonna fire the right missile. With any luck, that'll get him off our backs for good," Ark explained. All three could hear a faint roar over the roaring sound of the spinning chopper blades. Lily whimpered slightly. 

            "Don't worry, sis! It will all be fine," Lott told her reassuringly. 

            "Ready?" Ark asked.

            "Let's do it!" Lott said, grinning. As if scripted, Ark turned the steering mechanism sharply to the left, sending the chopper into a wide yaw to the left, almost on the verge of spinning it out of control. Lily let out another panicked scream. The creature let out another boisterous roar.

            "_NOW!" Ark ordered. Pressing with his thumb as hard as he could, he pushed the red button switch to the right, activating the right positioned missile. He could hear the beeping sound it made, followed by the release of pressurized air. Time seemed to pass in slow motion once again as the missile began its trek toward the target. As Ark began to bring the chopper level, he felt the chopper lift some as if a great weight were being released. Suddenly entering his field of vision was the huge bulking figure of the Tyrant, a missile lodged firmly into its stomach, carrying it away from the chopper, with it a look of contorted pain. As Ark felt a wave of accomplishment, Lott let out a cry of triumph. The missile looked like it was moving at a slow clip, which would play an advantage when the second missile was fired._

            "Wait until he is out a distance before you fire that second one—we don't want to blow up along with him. Wait for my signal." Ark positioned the helicopter so that the missile would be directly in line with the flying Tyrant. Several seconds later, Ark looked straight ahead at the flying creature, and with a determined look, said the word, "Fire."

            Lott pushed the red button once again, a look of pure glee on his face. In less than a second, they heard once again the sound of releasing air before they saw the second missile hurtling toward the receding body of the B.O.W. A matter of seconds ticked by until the explosive projectile flew straight into the path of the other missile, firmly planted inside the Tyrant. 

_Gotcha now, you fucker. _

The three in the chopper stared in amazement as an explosive ball of light and sound filled the sky, orange and yellow. Bone, skin, and muscle exploded in all directions, spraying a massive shower of blood. As the chopper flew past, Lott could see the burnt chunks of body that was once the Tyrant smoking, falling, taking them toward the ocean below. The detached blackened head of the former Tyrant sailed straight into the rapidly spinning chopper blades, slicing it into many tiny unrecognizable pieces. Finally, after all of that, the Tyrant was dead. He wasn't coming back. He was falling toward the ocean, all four billion singed and crispy chunks of him. 

            "_Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Ark yelled, overcome with giddiness as his mind registered the fact that it was now over. _

            "Yeah! All right!" Lott yelled, pumping his fists in victory in the air. 

            "_YAY!" came the happy cry from the 11-year old Lily. _

            Ark slumped back in his seat, controlling the chopper as Lott went back with his sister. Both of them hugged tightly, happy to be alive, deeply thankful for the man that saved them, the rogue spy. Now that the trio was safely out of the disaster area, Ark knew that Umbrella was not going to like that, not at all. Boy, he would have _a wealth of information for Leon. As for now, he had to find someplace where he could safely land this chopper. Breaking the silence, save for the chopper blades, Lily finally spoke up._

            "Where are we going?" she asked diminutively, the way that only little children could ask a question.

            "To be honest," Ark began, "I have no idea. I do know that we can fly as long as we have fuel, and by the looks of things, this baby was filled up when we left. We'll go wherever we're able to."

            Lily seemed satisfied with that answer. "Okay."

            "For now, though, I suggest you two get a little rest. It's been a trying time for all of us, you two especially."

            "Good idea," Lott agreed. "I'm already beginning to get a little tired."

            "See what happens after the adrenaline wears away? Plunk, like a stone," Ark said, followed by a chuckle. "You two sleep. I'll fly this bird to a safe landing."

            "Fine then," Lott replied. "Good night."

            "Morning," his sister replied quickly, then giggled.

             It was calm out over the open ocean. As the chopper flew over the pristine ocean waters, Ark could see the warm orange glow of the sun as it slowly began to rise over the horizon, giving the fading night sky a dazzling light show of oranges, reds, and blues. 

            _What a nice sunrise. What a nice way to end all of this. _

            The chopper flew into the rising sun, heading for nowhere and anywhere. 

A/N: And thus, we end the novelization of RE: Survivor. But wait! The story isn't done yet! There are still chapters to be written! What about Leon and Claire? She has a pending trip to Paris coming up! How did I do with the novelization? Let me know! Review the story thus far! Soon I will have up **Chapter Twelve.**


	13. The Search Continues

**Chapter Twelve: The Search Continues**

After almost an hour flying over the calm waters, Lott and Lily Klein were fast asleep, gently lulled by the mechanical sounds of the spinning helicopter blades. Finding himself alone, flying the chopper over charted waters, he decided he best attempt to establish radio contact if he was going to land anywhere. Hanging on a hook above the pilot's head sat a headset attached with a mouthpiece, to which the jack was attached to a small radio control panel. It was of simple design, with a knob to switch between the various frequencies, a knob to adjust volume, a button to talk, and a couple of other knobs and switches serving as equalizers for the sound. Grabbing the headset, he flicked the blatantly obvious power switch and placed the instrument on his head. Sounds of static filled his ears. Starting with the first frequency it happened to be on, he pressed the talk button and spoke into the microphone. 

            "Hello? Can anyone read me?" Ark began. After a few seconds of wait, he got nothing but static in return. "This is Ark Thompson, flying from Sheena Island. Can anyone hear me? Please respond!" Another few seconds ticked by. Once again, he got nothing. Switching the tuning dial to another frequency, he tried his approach once more. This time, however, he heard a muffled voice drowned out by radio static reply. 

            "Hello?" Ark was certain he had heard something that time. "Hello? Can you hear me? If there is any other aircraft in the area, please respond!" Once again, another reply drowned out in static. Not wanting to let go of this opportunity, he turned the dial up one more click and tried one more time. "Can anyone hear me? This is a transmission coming from an evac helicopter flying from Sheena Island. If there is any nearby aircraft or heliport, please reply."

            "Come in, chopper," A male voice responded. "Read you loud and clear." 

            Ark breathed an immense sigh of relief. "Thank you very much. Where are you transmitting from, over."

            "This is the air traffic control for the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad heliport in Exeter, Maine, USA, over," the male voice replied.

            _Special Tactics and Rescue…S.T.A.R.S.!_

"How far away am I from the landing pad?" Ark asked the air traffic controller. 

            "Where is your current position?" The man asked. 

            "Hold on just a sec…currently I'm flying south. I have been flying south from Sheena Island for the last hour now," Ark answered.

            "That won't help us too much. I need your exact location in terms of latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates. It should be located almost directly in front of you if you look down a little ways," the controller replied. Looking slightly downward, Ark had caught a glimpse of the exact coordinates of his position, via a Global Positioning System on board. 

            "Um…54 degrees north, and 65 degrees west is where I'm at." Ark answered over the airwaves. "Where does that put me?"

            "Lucky for you, you're almost due east of my position. You're just a couple hours out. Head directly west and maintain your current speed, and you should be here in two. How's the fuel situation?" 

            Ark looked at his fuel gauge. "Just a little less than full." 

            "That should do you just fine," the air traffic controller replied. "Any other persons on board?"

            "Two others," Ark replied.

            "Thank you very much, pilot. See you in two hours. Over and out."

            "Copy that. Thanks again," Ark ended, taking the headset off. He leaned back in his seat once again, feeling even better now that he was going to be back in familiar territory. Priorities began to rack up in his mind. He'd have to touch base with Leon once again, and then determine what would become of Lily and Lott, who were now without parents, and whether they had any other living relatives Ark didn't know. For now, though, he attempted to place his mind at ease. He had survived the survival horror, miraculously, and now he just wanted to get back home, back to the bustling city of New York, where he had quite a story to tell the waiting Leon Kennedy. As his mind and body began to slowly unwind from the hair-raising experience he recently had, he turned the metal helicopter to his right, heading for Exeter, and as he did, he could feel the warm sensation of sunlight across the left side of his face, putting his mind and soul to a degree of relative ease. 

                                                *                      *                      *          

            Almost one month had passed since the incident at Sheena Island. By now, Umbrella was in a state of uproar. Its headquarters in Paris were trying their hardest to stifle activity, as so to not arouse the public interest. It did generate waves of disturbance through some, however, as some of its multitude of employees caught snippets of gossip and rumor. In just these last few months, five of its major labs—the two labs in the Raccoon Forest, Marcus and Spencer; the two labs in Raccoon City; and the one on Sheena Island—fell to their ruin at the hands of a combined effort between what was left of the rogue Raccoon City Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, also known as S.T.A.R.S., and by Umbrella's own recklessness at trying to quell the probing officers. Not everyone could be left in the dark, and naturally, rumors were bound to happen. Such was the case of the Sheena Island incident, as Ark would later come to find. In the month between his escape with the only other survivors, two children named Lott Klein and his younger sister Lily, Ark had done a lot. After his landing in Exeter, Maine, he managed to establish communication with Leon, arranging for him to be picked up and taken back to New York. In the meantime, however, the three were taken to a nearby hospital to administer any aid necessary. As expected, Ark looked pretty beat up—with his bruised left side and his left arm taking damage from the Tyrant class B.O.W. Mr. X and the stinging acid from the aberration known as Ivy. In a couple of days, all were given a clean bill of health and they left. As it turned out, Lott and Lily had grandparents in Quebec, Canada. Soon after they were contacted, it was decided that their grandparents would take them, and they were saddened by the fact that both of the children's parents died in a "tragic accident." Leon and Ark didn't divulge the exact reasons for their death for the sake of security and believability--for two senior citizens having the notion that creatures created by a mutagenic virus running amuck on an island causing the complete, total, and utter destruction of an island just wouldn't sit well, let alone be believed. _Umbrella is a pharmaceutical corporation, _they would think, _they make legal medicinal drugs, not destructive viruses capable of reducing innocent civilians to a zombie state, capable of making monsters that would totally defy all logic. It was because of this possible train of thought that Leon and Ark held back on the details surrounding the children's parent's deaths. _

Ark went back to New York with Leon, and here he was, sitting in front of a desk, and just by the look the desk, he saw that his partner had kept busy this last month. Papers and folders were littered everywhere on the desk, showing the owner's lack of organization. The only clear spot on the desk was near his computer. This was Leon for you, and in the month of time, he had tried to procure any other documents surrounding the Sheena Island incident, but came up with nothing. Anything Umbrella released regarding the incident was sealed up, highly classified. Not even Ark could do it. He leaned his head on his hand, feelings of boredom sweeping through his body. Leon had called him earlier in the day, requesting his appearance in his office at 1 PM. It was just after one now, and according to Ark's watch, Leon was so far fifteen minutes late. In the brief phone conversation between the two this morning, Leon had made mention of another assignment.       

He let out a yawn, his state of boredom increasing. Soon, he'd leave—he'd been waiting for Leon for almost twenty minutes. Leon was not the type of person who was usually late. A minute later, a panting Leon stepped into the doorway behind Ark, red-faced. 

"Better late than never," Ark said upon seeing the jacketed figure in the doorway. 

"It's called traffic, Ark," Leon breathed heavily, walking toward his desk.

"That's every New Yorker's excuse," Ark said, amused from his own joke. 

"There was an accident on the way here," Leon continued. "Traffic was backed up for miles."

"Which is what the average New Yorker says _after_ they say 'traffic' and get shot down," Ark chuckled. 

            "Shut up," Leon shot back quickly.

            "Just pulling your leg, lighten up," Ark said, chuckling.

            Leon hung up his jacket, and quickly took a seat at his messy desk. "I called you here because I have another assignment for you."

            "Is it anything like the last doozy you sent me on? The one that made me temporarily lose my memory and almost killed me?" Ark asked, his expression turning serious. 

            Leon stared straight into Ark's eyes. "No, not quite like that. Although it does involve Umbrella, indirectly."

            "You have my attention," Ark said, returning the direct look. 

            "One of the survivors of the Raccoon City incident, a friend of mine, needs my help," Leon began. "Claire Redfield, one of the few civilian survivors from the former Raccoon City is searching for her brother, Chris Redfield—one of the last surviving Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. She has reasonable suspicion that her brother has gone to Paris, to Umbrella H.Q. She needs our help to get there. She intends on infiltrating the facility if necessary."

            "But that's suicide!" Ark exclaimed. "Going into the world headquarters of a mega-conglomerate in a search for anyone is asking surely for a death wish. She can't go it alone!" 

            "I understand your concerns, Ark—I had the same ones," Leon began. "When she spoke to me a couple days ago, I offered to accompany her to Europe. However, she politely declined, her reasoning being that she did not want to put anyone else in any other unnecessary danger. So I offered to help her in any other way possible. Fortunately, she accepted my offer. She does need some weaponry, and she will need a method of transport over to the Umbrella facility, for she can't carry weaponry to any of the national airports. What will probably seem the most likely plan is for you to safely get her to their heliport or launch pad of some sort, without drawing their attention. You may need some Chaff grenades so you can jam their signals. All I require you to do is to guide her safely there. After she has made it inside the facility, you can go as per her request."

            "That doesn't seem like a problem," Ark replied. "It does pose a risk, though. She might not be capable of bypassing some of Umbrella's security measures. Do they have their own creations running amuck through their facility?"

            "I doubt it," Leon answered. "It is the world headquarters of a massive conglomerate. Remember, their research into mutagenic pathogens is top secret. To the rest of the world, they make pharmaceuticals. They don't have a side that experiments on live humans turning them into undead killing creations, warped, twisted aberrations that don't conform to any type of logic or common sense. To have their B.O.W.'s running around free in their facility would be a giant error on their part. As for security guards, I think the place will be riddled in them. I think if Claire managed to survive the debacle and nightmare that was Raccoon City, I think she should be able to manage."

            "But," Ark began, "The city wasn't equipped with security devices, laser trip wires, and the myriad of fail-safe devices she's about to go up against."

            "Very true," Leon acknowledged, "which is why I hope to hook her up with several chaff grenades in hopes that they jam the signals. You will have some when you land at their heliport so they will not be alerted."

            "That's certainly a help. One other question: is her brother in Paris?" Ark asked.

            "From last known contact, he was." Leon took a deep breath. "Granted, the last contact was over a month ago, and he may have left for all we know. According to his diary that was found in the S.T.A.R.S. office in the former Raccoon City Police Department, he went to Umbrella HQ in Europe. She's going on a hunch, a possibility. That would _really suck if she was captured, and it turned out that he wasn't there, not even close."_

            "Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," Ark replied, yawning. "When do I go?"

            "In a few days, December 15th. The aim is to arrive at the heliport of Umbrella H.Q. when it is nighttime _in __Paris__." Leon placed heavy emphasis on the last two words.  "The time difference between New York and Paris is six hours. So you're not confused, if it is 12 PM in New York, it will be 6 PM in Paris. Timing is important." After he said that, he reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a manila folder. He cleared off a spot on his desk and opened it to Ark, and from Ark's observation, it looked like maps, floor plans of the Umbrella facility. "I took the liberty of getting these floor plans of Umbrella HQ, in hopes that they'd be of use to us, in regards to locations and things of that nature. These should be useful to Claire on the way there."_

            "Ooh, excellent!" Ark exclaimed. "These will prove very handy in the meantime. For now, though, anything else you need me to do?" 

            "I want you to find out everything you can about the facility—crew/employee rosters, any biological info on any top ranking officials, times when the guard shifts change, anything, with that last one—shift change times—taking top priority," Leon said. "I shall keep in touch with her accordingly as the day draws nearer. What is probably going to happen is that she will come here before she embarks on her mission. We can have a full discussion of the recommended plan of action. In the meantime, do everything necessary to find out what you can about the facility. Keep me posted. With that, I'll see you later." Leon rose to his feet.

            "You got it, friend."

            Almost three months had past since September 30, the day that Claire had escaped with Leon and the orphaned Sherry Birkin out of Raccoon City. Two days later, on October 2, it was destroyed. Now it was December 10, and Claire was wrapping up the fall semester at the university. 

            Finals week had ended. As a result, the semester had ended. Intercession, a period where there is a month between the fall semester and the spring semester, was upon Claire. Finally, with free time, she could head to Paris to search for her brother, Chris. She was, to put it mildly, worried. She hadn't heard from him since last August, and after that, in October when she found out that he escaped Raccoon City and was on his way to Europe. Chris was all she had left, with her parents dead, Chris had to take on the parental role. Their father had died on his construction job, a machinery accident, when they were kids and their mother died in a horrible car accident a few years ago. He had done his best to do what he could to provide for his younger sister, a few years younger than he was. 

            Now that she knew he was in Paris, she had made plans to fly there and search for him. The Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. was an underground group now, trying to dig up more dirt on them. It would be a massive undertaking—infiltrating the headquarters of a multi-billion dollar corporation so they can stop them from destroying the goddamn planet. A suicide mission, so it seemed. Yet, if anyone could stop the mega-conglomerate, it would be that small group of S.T.A.R.S. that Umbrella could not, no matter how hard they tried, dispose of. And now here she was, ready to fly into a possible danger situation in search for her brother. She had made certain all of the necessary things she needed when to get there were in place—thanks to the help of two people. In a couple days' time, she would be ready to go. 

            She decided that she would need a bit of help—after all, trying to infiltrate the headquarters of a massive pharmaceutical corporation was not something people did every day on a regular basis. She would need assistance in various items, such as acquiring weapons and a way of getting over there. As a result, she managed to find her friend, one of the few survivors from the Raccoon City incident, Leon S. Kennedy. Claire gave him a ring, and he offered his services, even offering to accompany her into the facility. Because she didn't want to put anyone else in any unnecessary danger, she politely refused his services, but she did ask if she could supply him with weaponry and a chopper, and he readily accepted her request, even going so far as to make her hotel arrangements while in New York City. From her conversations with Leon, she knew that she would be taken to Europe with a man named Ark Thompson, who, according to Leon, was a friend of his. Now she was ready to make the long bus trip from university to New York, an eight-hour non-stop (except for travel plazas and the like) venture. One thought still nagged at her, though.

            _What…if he isn't in __Paris__? If I'm doing this and it turns out he isn't there…then this will have been all for naught. Still…I have to try. If he's there, then it was all worth it, __Raccoon__City__ and everything. Just as long as I know he's alive and safe. _

Back inside her small suite style dorm, she pulled out a small black duffel bag and began to pack. She'd pack lightly, taking mostly clothes for the most part. Like her brother, she was not a very organized person. Her clothes were jammed into each drawer of her tiny bureau, and opening them proved to be a comical struggle. After some strain and a loud groan, the top drawer finally gave, almost sending Claire onto the cold floor. Regaining her footing, she quickly glanced at the contents—nothing but bras, assorted panties and a few thongs. 

            "Vanity, thy name is underwire," she said to herself. Stuffing what she'd need in her duffel bag in no particular order, not even folding her clothes neatly in the bag, she found herself ready to go. Suddenly she remembered one more key essential she would need (sorry, nothing of the sexual persuasion here). Beneath her lower bunk bed, she had a small safe, where she would keep her most precious possessions. Pulling it out, she quickly aligned the tumblers and opened it. Inside were pictures of all the members of her family—her mother and father, her brother Chris, their Golden Retriever Belle, her diary, and her most recent acquirement, the first thing given to her in Raccoon City, a Beretta, the S.T.A.R.S standard issue handgun, still loaded with a few bullets—given to her by Leon at the outset of what would become their romp through the ravaged city. 

            _Good thing I was never caught with this with their health and safety inspections. I can imagine them now, interrogating me where, why, and how I got this gun. This little thing has saved my life on countless occasions. Now it may see action again. _

Stuffing that into her duffel bag, she closed and locked up the safe, and slid it back under the bed. Claire wouldn't be back in this dorm until late January, when the spring semester begins. Now that she was free to go, she was ready to go. She was packed, and her next destination was the bus depot in town, which would take her to the Port Authority in New York City. From there, she would meet Leon, they would go over the intended course of action, and then she would fly to Europe with the pilot Ark Thompson in five days. Of course, there was a risk of capture or death associated with this entire plan, but those were to be expected. Any person that was dealing with Umbrella Pharmaceuticals had that risk of death, especially one who intends on infiltrating such a place.  

            Now having everything, she put on her denim jacket and walked out her door, then she stopped, and ran a checklist through her mind, making sure she forgot nothing. Claire glanced down at her watch, checking the time. It was late in the morning, so she deduced that she would arrive somewhere around nine or ten in the evening. Now certain she had all she needed, she walked out into the hall, down a flight of stairs, and out the double doors of her residence hall, heading for the bus depot, not stopping to look back. As she walked on, feelings of hope and determination echoed throughout her mind and body, her mind hoping that this would end in total success, and that she would find her brother, who she hadn't seen in months. 

            Her sore ass reminded her of the time just a few months ago, when she was entering Raccoon City driving a Harley. Instead of a six and a half hour ride on a loud "vibrator," she had been sitting on a bus for a little over nine hours. When the bus arrived in New York, she had seen the familiar buildings that marked the acclaimed New York City skyline—the prominent twin buildings of the World Trade Center, the landmark Statue of Liberty, and the tall lit spire that was the top of the Empire State building. The whole city seemed to be alive with cars, people, and lights—lights everywhere, it was like daytime here. It was no wonder that the city is called, "the city that never sleeps." Before entering the hustle, bustle, and assorted commotion that was New York, the bus had rolled through open highway—not really the scenic route, but it had its purpose. Nevertheless, Claire had one song stuck in her head, a wonderful traveling song—"America," by Paul Simon. Claire had played the lyrics over and over in her head to pass the time, trying to lull herself to sleep.

_Let us be lovers, _

_Go marry our fortunes together._

_I've got some real estate here in my bag._

_So we bought a pack of cigarettes,_

_And Mrs. Wagner pies,_

_And walked off to look for __America__._

_"Kathy," I said as we boarded the Greyhound in __Pittsburgh__,_

_"_Michigan___ seems like a dream to me now."_

_It took me four days to hitchhike from __Saginaw__,_

_And I've come to look for __America__._

_Laughing on the bus,_

_Playing game with the faces._

_She said, "The man in the gabardine suit is a spy."_

_I said, "Be careful, his bow tie is really a camera."_

_Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat._

_We smoked the last one an hour ago._

_So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazine,_

_And the moon rose over an open field._

_"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping,_

_"I'm empty and aching and I don't know why."_

_Counting the cars on the __New Jersey__ Turnpike,_

_They've all come to look for __America__._

_All come to look for __America__,_

_All come to look for __America__._

Finally, the soft and gentle lyrics of the song began to make her doze off, making her forget about her aching butt. Her slight nap lasted about an hour, until some over-hyper child screaming about how pretty the New York skyline was awakened her suddenly. Her eyes shot open, and she let out a startled gasp. For a split second, she forgot where she was—until she saw the ticket she was holding in her hand, accompanied by the black duffel bag lying next to her. A sharp feeling of annoyance flew through her as she was gripped with a sudden urge to strangle the child, but the feeling soon quelled, and she looked out the window. Sure enough, the child was right—they were entering the grandiose sight that was New York City, the Big Apple. She took a look at her watch, and sure enough, the hour was approaching ten. Leon would be waiting for her when the bus pulled into the Port Authority in a little while. Claire had only been to the city a couple of times before as a child, when both of their parents were still alive. Even so, she vaguely remembered anything about the city. It was a place where one could very, very easily get lost. Despite that fact, she was awake now, probably for the best. Soon the bus would arrive at its intended destination. 

Man, was she ever so relieved when she stood up as the bus pulled into its final stop. Those hours of traveling made her butt quite numb, and she felt a surge of life (not to mention a normal blood flow to those tender area) go through her as she stretched those temporarily atrophied limbs. Slowly, in obnoxious single file, the passengers disembarked, and as Claire walked down the set of three stairs, her head darted back and forth, looking for the familiar figure of Leon. Slowly walking forward on the cement platform, she tried to find him amidst the small crowd of passengers.

"Over here!" yelled a young male voice. Claire looked in the direction of the sound and she had seen him, a young man sporting a dark leather jacket. It was unzipped, revealing a white t-shirt, with the N.Y.P.D. logo in blue emblazoned on his chest. He wore a pair of dark blue loose-fitting jeans, and was waving at her, staring in her direction. This was a smiling Leon, as opposed to the stern, serious, and sometimes-brash Leon Claire had met as they both made their way into the scrum of Raccoon City. Claire's face lit up with joy and she sifted her way through the crowd, knocking into people with that duffel bag of hers, which got angry and dirty looks from the people, even after apologizing. 

_Such is __New York__, she reasoned. __Home of the meanest and cruelest assholes on the planet. But I could be wrong._

She embraced him warmly, and the two laughed upon seeing each other once again for the first time in a couple of months, since she left the home of David Trapp, captain of the Exeter, Maine branch of S.T.A.R.S. His warm gaze met hers, and he finally began conversation.

"How the hell are ya?" 

"Oh, just great," Claire replied. "My ass isn't feeling so hot, however. Hours upon hours of travel can do that to anyone, you know?" 

Leon chuckled. "Tell me more as we get to my car. I hope you're hungry. What are you in the mood for?" 

Claire smiled. "You know what? I would love to try a New York pizza. I've heard they're some of the best."

Leon looked at Claire. "So college food has really become gruel to you, huh?" They both laughed.

"Oh, yeah. I can only eat cafeteria food for so long before I go nuts. I need _real _food once in a while. Rations can only go so far," Claire added. "Hopefully there's a place open."

Leon gave her a mock look of confusion. "This is New York, you know. That whole 'city that never sleeps' thing—it's mostly true. Besides—it's almost eleven. The night is young."

Claire came back with a child-like look. "I've never been to New York before—well, a couple of times as a child, but do I remember it? No." 

"Fine. Be like that," Leon said.

"I will," Claire giggled. Leon took her to an almost deserted parking lot, just a few cars scattered about the space. They walked over to a small black car, and from Claire's observation, it was very recently washed judging by the way the streetlamps reflected their cool white florescent lights off the sheet metal. Leon walked over to the passenger side, and like a chauffer, opened the door for Claire in a mock act of genteelism. 

"For you, my fair lady," Leon said in a mock British accent.

"Thank you, good sir," she replied in the same mock accent, sitting herself down—even though her ass complained by sending a quick jolt of pain up her backside. Leon closed the door next to her, and he walked around to the driver's side, opened the door, and hopped in, closing the door next to him. He shot a quick glance at her and smiled, eliciting a return smile from the younger Redfield. 

"I'm extremely glad to see you, Claire," he said, placing the key into the ignition and turning the engine over. Almost instantly, the powerful engine purred to life, sending a warm vibrating feeling through Claire's body, giving her a sensation similar to her riding a Harley. 

"Nice car," Claire said. "I like it."

"Glad you do," Leon replied. "Shall we dine?"

"Hell, yeah! I'm starving," Claire answered, laughing. 

"Let's go."

A/N: Sorry for the delay in post. I was on vacation and wasn't able to go online. However, I reward the wait with two more chapters, this one—and **Chapter Thirteen: On the Road to Find out.** Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming!


	14. On the Road to Find Out

**Chapter Thirteen: On the Road to Find Out**

_Time: Three days later, Sunday, December 13._

Claire Redfield woke up suddenly to the abrupt grating sound of the alarm clock going off on the night table next to her. Groaning in disgust, she slammed her hand down on the snooze button and dozed off once again. Ten minutes later, the sharp mechanical repetitive tone sounded off again. Opening her sleep-encrusted eyes, she saw the red digital numbers display 9:10 AM. Pulling the blankets off her naked body, she reached over with one hand and killed the alarm. The cool morning air was a shock to her fair skin, and it showed visibly, her pink nipples quickly becoming erect. Slowly, she sat up in her bed, in the hotel room that Leon had reserved for her. Hanging up on a hook next to the bed was a white night robe, and she put it on as she walked over to the window. She opened the curtains, giving her a view of the outside world. It was an overcast day outside, and she could see a few flurries falling toward the earth. Once again, she could see the New York City skyline in her line of vision--the tops of the Twin Towers, the spire of the Empire State building, and the torch of the Statue of Liberty covered in fog. Looking at the street below, she could see the hustle and bustle of city life, the people walking on the sidewalk, the tops of the yellow taxicabs driving along—it looked like a scene that could easily fit the George Gershwin piece, "Rhapsody in Blue." Christmas wreaths and lights decorated storefront windows and streetlamps, giving the whole place an incredible Christmas feel, a feeling of warm fuzzy. 

In these few minutes of peaceful serenity, Claire suddenly realized the fact that she had an appointment at 10:30, and she walked to her duffel bag, grabbed her clothes for the day, a long-sleeved black shirt, a pair of jeans, black panties and a matching bra, and walked into the shower. 

His office was easy enough to find. Leon had arranged it so that her hotel room was in walking distance from his office. His office was located in a building a couple of city blocks away, offices that were set aside for the N.Y.P.D. Going up in the elevator to the eighteenth floor, his office was located directly in front of the elevator. As she heard the bright and cheery ping of the elevator bell, she found herself brimming with anticipation. After all, today they—Ark Thompson, the pilot, Leon, and herself—would be talking about the best plan of action to infiltrate the Umbrella headquarters. She glanced down at her watch. She was ten minutes early. Directly in front of her, she saw the door with his name inscribed on a nameplate, and the door was closed. This Ark person wasn't here either.

_So I'm ten minutes early. I can wait. Hopefully they're punctual. _

She stood in front of his door, her mind spinning with thoughts. A part of her wanted not to do what she was about to do. That part wanted to stay in the safety of her university, and hope that Chris was safe and all right. However, the chances of that happening were slim, since Claire hadn't heard from the older Redfield in a couple of months, since just after the Raccoon City incident. Another part of her really wanted to go, even though it could mean her capture. Umbrella, if in the event of her capture, would probably heavily interrogate her, send her off to some remote prison far beyond the reaches of any civilization, or even worse—send her to some other hidden Umbrella lab at some remote place where they could do their atrocious bio-weapons and mutagenic virus research. Even though she did _not_ want that to happen, that risk was there. It would be a risk she'd have to take, come hell or high water.

Five minutes later, she heard another _ping_ as the elevator slowed to a stop on the eighteenth floor. 

_Now who could this be? _

As the elevator opened, she saw a man, probably in his twenties, wearing brown slacks and a green sweater. He had dark brown eyes, and his hair was neatly combed and slicked back, parted neatly to one side. He wore an unzipped fleece The North Face jacket, and he was carrying several manila folders in his hand. Grinning, he walked over to Leon's door and unlocked it. 

"Waiting for Leon?" the man asked. Claire gave a nod of approval. He opened the door. "Name's Ark. Ark Thompson." Ark held out his hand. 

"Claire Redfield," Claire said, reciprocating the handshake. "I've heard about you."

"As I you," Ark replied. "Leon can't seem to keep his big mouth shut, can he?" Both of them chuckled. "Leon should be here shortly. But just between you and me, he may be late. If he is, he'll blame it on the traffic."

Claire laughed. "Is he really that predictable?"

"Mostly," Ark answered, a grin playing across his face. "Just you watch. Wait and see." He pulled up two seats in front of Leon's desk. "Here. Sit down. All we can do is wait."

"Thanks," Claire replied before taking a seat. A minute of silence passed between the two of them. Ark was sifting through papers in his folders, and Claire looked around the office. It was mostly empty, probably due to the fact that Leon hadn't been here long. Behind his desk stood a file cabinet. His desk was quite disorganized, what with loose sheets of paper lying in disarray and what have you. Yellow Post-It notes lined his computer monitor, decorating the outside of it in the wonderful sticky paper. Boxes of personal belongings were stacked on the floor in various places. Apparently, neat and tidy wasn't on his mind. Ark began to whistle a tune to himself, an upbeat little song. 

After a few minutes of this, Claire glanced at her watch again. 10:35. Ark was right. He was late. No sooner did Claire think that when she heard once again the _ping_ of the elevator's arrival. Ark didn't even look up. "That would be Leon."

Turning around in her seat, she saw the familiar figure of Leon step out and hurriedly walk into the office. "Good morning, Ark. Claire," he said, acknowledging the punctual two. "Sorry I'm late, you guys."

"Wait for it…" Ark whispered to Claire, his hand covering his mouth so that Leon couldn't see. 

Not looking around to see that, Leon hung up his coat. "Traffic this morning was horrible." Claire laughed. "You were right, Ark!" Ark laughed along with her.

Leon lifted his head up. "Thanks, Ark. You blew my cover," he said, chuckling.

"Whoopsies," Ark replied. "Just getting her acquainted with your routine, that's all." 

"Hey," Leon said, pointing a finger at Ark. "No comments from the peanut gallery," he said with mock anger.

Ark looked around with sarcasm. "No peanuts here."

"I'm looking at one right now," Leon shot back. 

"Are you two always like this?" Claire asked, amused by the whole comic routine.

"Usually," Leon replied. "But for this little briefing, we will can the malarkey." He glared in mock anger at Ark. "Right?"

"Yes, master," he answered in an Igor-like voice. "Whatever you say, master." He cleared his voice. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—" 

Claire broke out in laughter. "Wrong situation."

"We'll have our fun time later," Leon said, with the mannerisms of an elementary school teacher. "For now, let's get to the matter at hand."

"Right," Ark agreed. "Shall we?"

"Let's," Claire replied.

Ark opened up one of his folders, pulled out several sheets of paper and laid them down on the desk. Claire glanced at them and saw that they were a series of maps, floor plans of the Umbrella facility. 

"Big complex," Claire said.

"Yeah, you'd be right on that," Leon replied, a look of seriousness playing across his face. 

"So, what is going to happen?" She asked, curious. Ark pulled out a map, labeled "Umbrella 1F." 

Leon cleared his throat. "A chopper will be waiting in Central Park. We already have clearance to make use of it. On December 15th, you and Ark will leave from Central Park promptly at 12 PM. There is a 6-hour time difference between here and Paris. It will be 6 PM there when you leave.

"This is where we're going to land," Ark said, pointing to a large square on the left side of the map marked "heliport." "Before we do, we shall manage to throw a chaff grenade to the ground in order to jam the surveillance camera signals, so our presence will go mostly unnoticed. Claire nodded in agreement. 

"And how do we get these chaff grenades?" She asked.

Leon grinned. "I have connections."

Claire chuckled. "Well, good for you. Now, Ark, a question. Will we have enough fuel to make the trip?"

"Just enough," Ark said. "As soon as you enter the facility, I will leave and refuel at the closest heliport. Then I will make my exit, leaving you there to do whatever you will, as per your request. I will lend you a radio in the event something drastic happens. Claire looked at the 1F map, and began to form a mental picture of what her path would be. From the heliport, there was one door from it, leading into what appeared to be a large warehouse, about double the size of the heliport. From there, it led out into a front passageway, which led to the main entrance. No doubt there would be some sort of security there.

"You're most likely gonna have to enter through the main entrance, Claire," Ark continued. "If we get to the heliport at just the right time, there is gonna be a change of shift—a five minute window where there are no guards. You have to enter through that entrance and get past the security in that time. If you do see them, do not hesitate to shoot them—"

"Won't shooting them alert the guards?" Claire cut in.

"I was getting to that," Ark said, slightly perturbed. "You have a pistol on you?"

"I do—a Beretta that Leon gave me in Raccoon City," Claire said, shooting a look at Leon.

"I can equip a silencer to that gun to make it so the guards won't hear the shot." Claire seemed satisfied by that response. "Anyway, once you get inside the main entrance, then you are on your own. So you don't get lost, Leon will give you a small device, a Palm, that has the maps of the facility. Lugging these paper maps around just wouldn't do."

Leon continued. "Try to stay out of heavily guarded areas—top officials' offices, control rooms, etc." Ark pulled out the floor plans for the B1, B2, and B3 levels. "If your brother is investigating the facility, chances are he's in the basement labs, where they most likely do their T- or G- or whatever virus research they're doing down there. But, as probably expected, those lower levels will be crawling with scientists, researchers, and guards. You'd do best to hang low at all times. Shoot only when _absolutely_ necessary. If you miss your target, the bullet might ricochet of the wall, thus alerting them that an intruder is present. If that happens, the whole complex goes into a state of alert, and then all I have to say is _good luck."  _

Claire's face grew serious. "I don't intend on capture."

"_No one intends capture," Ark said. "Unfortunately, if you decide to do this, it is a possible risk."_

"And I do intend on doing this," Claire said firmly. "I have to. I have to find him. There is no question about it. I must find him."

"Then it's settled," Leon chimed in. "You understand the risks involved. So be it. However, you can decide to back out at any time before you and Ark leave in two days. I don't think you'll want to, but that option is there, just in case you need or want to." 

"Thank you," Claire said, bowing her head. "Now how do we acquire weaponry?"

"When we arrive at the launch site in two days, the weapons will be loaded already," Leon said. 

"Well, that's a help," Claire added. 

"I'll also give you several clips for your Beretta," Leon added. 

"Remember to dress accordingly," Ark said. "Dress for ease of movement, no loose clothing. Tight clothes, but comfortable enough for you. The fact of the matter is that you don't want any loose clothing or anything to slow you down."

"I understand," Claire said, smiling. "I have clothing to accommodate. I know the mental imagery of me in tight-fitting clothing is doing a pleasurable service in your minds right now."

"Shh!" Ark whispered, bringing a finger to his lips. "Don't ruin the moment!" Leon chuckled.

"Sad. Very sad. Get a woman," Leon said, grinning. 

"I can dream, can't I?" Ark asked, a look of fake annoyance playing across his face.

"Back to reality," Leon said, pointing to the maps. "Now, there is one character you have to worry about."

"I'm all ears," Claire said. Leon reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a manila folder. Opening the folder, Claire saw what was probably a profile, some sort of biographical information. Paper-clipped on the page was a profile face shot of a man, somewhat Hispanic, his dark complexion matching his dark brown eyes.

"This is Rodrigo Juan Raval," Leon started. "He is the commander of the security, guard, and task forces for the facility. Raval is ex-military, and he is an excellent marksman. He is a very stealthy fellow. If he finds you, he will not stop until he captures you."

Ark looked grim. "Be very careful."

"That is my intention," Claire said, determined. A few seconds of silence passed between the three until Leon spoke up once more.

"I will pick you up outside your hotel on Tuesday. We'll probably leave here around 10 or so, so we can have breakfast and try to beat the traffic to Central Park."

"Here you go with the traffic again," Ark said, smiling. "This time, _don't be late_," he continued, placing deliberate accent on the last three words. 

"I won't, so there," Leon said childishly, sticking his tongue out at Ark. 

Claire smiled. "Wow. And how old are you guys?"

"We're teens at heart," Ark said, laughing. 

"Come on, let's go," Leon said, rising to his feet. He grabbed his coat off the coat hanger. Ark and Claire stood up simultaneously. 

"Where to?" Claire asked.

"A good breakfast joint," Leon said in an overdone New York accent. 

                                    *                      *                      *

_Time: Tuesday, December 15th_

            _Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep. _

_Beep. _

_Beep. _

_Beep._

_Beep. _

_Beep._

_Beep—_

Claire slammed her hand on the snooze button of the alarm clock. It was 9 AM, and Claire couldn't have the joy of sleeping in today—she had an appointment to keep. She would search for her brother today. Many, many things would happen today. She threw the blankets to one side, letting the warm sunlight wash over her bare creamy white skin, cresting over her supple breasts and onto her face. Claire slowly dragged herself out of her bed, much to her disdain. She took the white bathrobe that was hanging next to her and put it on, while she looked out at the wintry scene below. It was a bright sunny December morning, and she noticed the same hustle, bustle, and assorted commotion of city life, a little busier than normal. Weekday mornings tend to be so. Knowing that she was on a tight schedule, she reached into her duffel bag and pulled out her tightest clothing, yet comfortable for her. She pulled out a pair of dark jeans, a tight black shirt and her red vest, the one that she wore when she went to Raccoon City that first time. With an hour left before Leon's arrival, she walked into the shower and made herself ready for the day to come. 

Leon stood outside the hotel entrance promptly at 10, and Claire smiled when she saw him. She looked at her watch and gave him mock applause. 

"You're on time **for once," she said.**

"See? See? I told you," Leon said, pointing to himself, making himself looking big and proud. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Showoff." Claire said, brushing him aside with feigned boredom.

"You're no fun," Leon said, giving Claire a mock pout.

"Aww, muffin," Claire replied playfully. The two walked toward the waiting vehicle.

"Let's go," he said, sighing. "Your ride awaits. But first—food. You don't want to ride a long journey across the ocean on an empty stomach."

"You'd be right, buddy boy. Let's eat. Your call," Claire agreed.

After a nice-sized breakfast, Leon had managed to guide his car safely through the traffic and crazy streets of the city to the large expanse known as Central Park. In a matter of minutes, the black car pulled up to a large open grassy field, and in the center of it was a helicopter, the side cockpit door adorning the N.Y.P.D. logo. Claire could make out the figure of Ark standing in front of the cockpit door. The two quickly crept out of the car, and Ark glanced at his watch. 

"WOW! You guys are five minutes _early!" He beamed._

"Why, I oughta—" Leon said, raising a fist in jest. Ark raised his hands in theatrical defense. 

"Now, now, children," Claire said, sounding motherly. "Don't we have some important business to attend to?"

"Oh, shit! That's right! I have to drive you somewhere! Forgive me, mother!" Ark yelled jokingly. "But first…" Ark slid open the cockpit door to reveal a cache of weapons.

"Huh? Huh? How about that," Ark said, grinning and pointing at the weapons cache. 

"You done good," Leon complimented. Sighing, he looked at Claire. "It looks like we have to part ways. Do you have your Beretta?"

Claire patted her jacket pocket. "It's here, along with the clips you gave me."

"Remember," Leon said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You only have a limited amount of those bullets. Use them only when you _have _to. Now, I have one more question."

They could hear the helicopter begin to roar to life as Ark was making himself ready. 

"Are you absolutely, positively certain you want to do this?"

Claire did not take her gaze off him. "I'm positive."

"Then I wish you the best of luck," Leon said. He leaned his face in to hers and the two quickly kissed on the lips. 

"Godspeed, Claire."

"I will return safely," Claire said. Leon opened the passenger door for Claire and helped her climb in, admiring her tight butt, noticing the panty lines as he did. He shut her door and quickly ran around to Ark's side.

"Fly safely, man. Good luck to you."

"Thanks. I'll be back before you know it," Ark said, flashing a thumbs-up before putting his radio headset on. 

"See ya later." Leon closed Ark's door and backed away from the chopper, the spiraling winds created from the blades blowing all over him. He raised his hand above his eyes to block out the spinning leaves that flew up around him. Claire kept her gaze on the handsome officer and smiled at him. He waved to her, and she did the same in return. Seconds later, she felt the helicopter lift off the ground, slowly picking up speed as it gained altitude. Claire looked down, her gaze remained locked on him as he looked up, shielding his eyes from the blinding early afternoon sun. With a pull of a lever, the chopper moved forward, heading out toward the Statue of Liberty, after which would be nothing but blue ocean. She looked out toward the sky blue horizon and sighed. A feeling of nervousness slowly began to creep into her stomach, which would stay with her until she arrived halfway around the globe. A premonition flashed into her mind, a nagging feeling that something bad was going to happen. In her mind, she envisioned herself screwing up somewhere along the line. She tried to push the thought out of her head with more positive thoughts.

_Chris, I'm on my way. Soon I will know you're alive and safe and we can flee this nightmare together. We can bring about the downfall of Umbrella._

Claire sighed. As the chopper sailed past the beacon of hope, the Statue of Liberty, she came to the realization that there was no turning back. In her mind's eye, she knew that whatever was about to happen in the not-so-distant future was inevitable. Would she have success? Whatever the case, she was on the road on the find out. 

A/N: Ahh…I've done it! I have broke the 50,000-word mark, woot! Now I can relax a little. I have some bad news…I have maybe two more chapters left before the novel ends. So it goes. Anyway, thanks for the feedback thus far. Keep the reviews coming! Soon I will have up **Chapter Fourteen. This will begin the first part of Claire's infiltration of Umbrella HQ. **


	15. Hiding Under the Umbrella

**Author's Note: **Wow. I am so sorry I haven't posted. It's been over a month since this was updated. After the end of November, I decided to take a break—writing frantically for the month took its toll, and I took a month off. Now I'm back again, determined to finish this novel. I decided to do something new with this chapter. Claire, in her process of entering the facility, discovers a character from another game! Can you guess? Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**Chapter Fourteen: Hiding Under the Umbrella**

            She had never seen so many stars in the sky at once. The entire black sky was dotted with stars of various hues and luminosities. Without the ambience of light pollution from any nearby major city, the sky over the dark ocean was beautiful, to say the least. The last time she remembered seeing this many stars was in the planetarium of her former high school when she took a half-year course in astronomy. The only sound she could hear was the loud whirring of the blades as the chopper headed for its destination, and with each mile past, the nervousness grew, starting off in her stomach and slowly expanding. According to Ark, they were about two hours away from the facility, and that they would be flying over the U.K. in a few minutes. Looking out at the dark night ahead, she could just make out a small coastline about a mile or so in front. For the last five or so hours (so it seemed, probably a lot longer), she had been thinking about her pending mission, the gravity of the situation beginning to bear down upon her. She was taking a huge gamble—she was riding on a hunch. The possibility that Chris was still there was uncertain, yet since that was the last place he last contacted anyone, Claire had to go on that. Hopefully, she'd be able to find him and then get the hell out of there before anything happened. 

            "Welcome to France," Ark said, his voice cutting over the sound of the spinning blades. Claire looked down, and sure enough, she could see land whizzing below her, rolling green pasture accompanied by dirt roads and stone houses. From the looks of it, this was rural U.K., area where people lived in a laid-back sort of way. It was a welcome sight after seeing seemingly endless stretches of ocean below. The change of scenery also took her mind away from another small detail—her sore ass. Sitting for all this time without stretching made her butt sore as anything. It made her almost eager for this bird to arrive there quickly just so she could stand. How Ark could manage, she didn't know. Maybe he had an ass of steel or something. She leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes and sighed, trying to suppress the butterflies multiplying in her stomach.

            _Almost there…_

                                                *                      *                      *

            She could see it in the distance. Lying on a nice chunk of land on the outskirts of the city, the illuminated edifice gave off this creepy persona, a feeling that would never be known by the ignorant public, those who didn't know what was beneath that logo. The feeling of nervousness and anxiety welled to new heights within Claire's young body, to the point where her facial expressions were showing it, despite her fruitless attempts to hide these emotions. 

            "Relax," Ark yelled over the loud whirring of the rapidly spinning blades. Claire let out a tense chuckle. 

            "Do I look that nervous?" Claire asked.

            "Enough so that I picked up on it," Ark laughed. "Calm down. It'll be fine. I have faith in you. Now grab a couple of chaff grenades—we're coming up on the heliport now." 

            Claire unfastened her belt and crept slowly toward the back of the chopper where the small weapons cache was stored. Quickly she realized that she had no idea what a chaff grenade looked like.

            "Where the hell are they?" Claire yelled, feeling embarrassed as her face quickly grew red. 

            "In a box that's labeled 'chaff,'" Ark replied. Claire, reaching to a spot on the wall where a flashlight hung, felt relieved. A beam of cool white light filled the chopper rear. In just a few seconds, she found the box, and saw it was filled with these grenades. 

            "How many do we need?" She asked. 

            "As many as you can carry," Ark said. Claire realized that she wouldn't be able to carry much with the way she was dressed. She dressed for ease of movement, which meant tight clothing all around. She wore dark blue jeans which accentuated her shapely buttocks quite nicely, from Ark's observation. She wore a tight short-sleeved black shirt made of a material similar to spandex, with the top part of the front gone, just showing the smallest hint of cleavage. Over that, she wore her red vest, the same red vest she wore during her tenure in Raccoon City. Her vest had a few pockets, enough to hold two grenades, her Palm OS and several clips of 9mm Beretta rounds. To her left was the cockpit door, and she saw a rolled-up rope ladder attached to a sturdy metal beam designed for such. She took a few second once over. Taking four grenades, she turned around and headed back to the front, and instantly noted that the heliport was just a few hundred feet away—they'd be over it in a few seconds. 

            "Is the ladder secure?" Ark asked, his gaze straight ahead.

            "Yep. I also took three grenades—I can fit two in my vest pockets here. I know we're gonna need one or two," Claire replied.

            "Good. The heliport no doubt is laced with security cameras. Those chaff grenades will last one minute exactly. As soon as you open the door, pull the pin and drop the grenade. From this height, the grenade will detonate just before it hits the ground, the ideal place to jam the signals. As soon as you drop, roll the ladder out and quickly descend. When the minute is almost up, I will drop another grenade and give you another minute. Once you're inside, you're on your own. Now get ready." Without a word, Claire crept to the back of the chopper once more and opened the heavy metal door, sliding back slowly, the cold, crisp night air blowing into the aircraft. Claire felt the chopper slowing to a stop, and as she took a fleeting glimpse down, she noted that they were directly above the tarmac of the heliport. She took one of the chaff grenades, pulled the pin on it, and released the thing, watching it fall rapidly to the ground below. Without a second to waste, she pushed the rolled-up rope ladder outside, letting it fall to the ground. A couple of seconds later, she could hear a soft explosion, but not too loud.

            _One minute on the clock…_

Checking to see if she had everything—gun, chaff, and ammo, she took one final parting glance at Ark. 

            "Good luck," Ark said solemnly, flashing her a thumbs-up. Claire gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment before placing herself on the ladder and beginning her descent. She disappeared from his sight and made haste to the ground. 

            Inside, in the main security office, the guard looked at his watch. It would be another couple of minutes before his shift ended and he would be relieved of his duty. He looked at the myriad of screens that lined the entire room. The massive security network that was created for this facility was immense, and to reduce confusion, the screens were arranged by section of the facility. Doing his normal routine, he looked at the screens for signs of any trouble. So far, nothing out of the ordinary—just the typical scientist, researcher, or official made an appearance, but that was it. He had noticed an increased security presence in the last several months—rumors about secret facilities and bioweapons created by Umbrella had made their way to Umbrella HQ, and he guessed that the increased security was probably in response to the increased media attention as a result. There was no doubt in the guard's mind that all this mumbo-jumbo about Umbrella doing secret research involving viruses and bio-organic weapons were made up, falsified, created by tabloids or some shit like that. Usual highlights of most evenings involved the cameras going haywire or some shit like that. He looked at his watch once more. Another minute. A shrill beep suddenly cut through the silence, and the guard moved around quickly in his swivel chair to find the source of the annoying sound. He saw the problem at once—the entire security network at the heliport suddenly shut down, every monitor in the heliport section suddenly went to static. 

            "Damn cameras. Always going down, pieces of shit," the guard muttered. He picked up the phone near him and put in a call to the techie's office. If anyone knew how to navigate the tangled web of wiring that made up the gigantic network, it was Hal. The phone rang once, twice, three times before a male voice came on. 

            "Hal," he said, his voice laden with sleep. 

            "Hate to disturb you in whatever sex dream you were having, but we have a problem here—all the cameras for the heliport just died. Can you take a look at it?"

            "I'll get on it," Hal said.

            "Jim will keep in touch with you via walkie-talkie," the guard said.

            "Yep," Hal said, hanging up the phone. The guard placed the receiver down just as the guard to relieve him walked in, named Jim. 

            "Have a good evening?" Jim asked, his voice carrying a heavy French accent.

"No trouble, except for a minute ago when all the cameras at the heliport suddenly died," the guard answered.

"Hal on it?" Jim asked.

"Yep, just got him on it. He'll get to you over the two-way when he fixes it." 

"One more thing before you go," Jim began. "Tell Rachel that Hal is on his way to the warehouse. After that, you may go. See you tomorrow," 

"Will do. Have a good night," the guard said, taking his jacket and heading out the door. 

            Jim took a seat in the swivel chair and looked at each screen for anything amiss.

            Claire Redfield took one final glance at the receding chopper before opening the double metal doors and stepping into a small space. The door closed, and Claire realized she was in an elevator of sorts, but there were only a few buttons on the control panel—buttons labeled **Main, Heli, W.H.**. No numbers at hall. Below the letters, there were little pictures showing what each one meant—a helicopter below the word Heli, a crate below W.H., and a door below Main. Getting through the main entrance would be quite difficult, but she'd have to manage.  she pressed Main, and suddenly she felt the elevator move…_back_. Not up. Not down. Back. 

            _What the fuck? _

            Claire pulled out the Palm OS device that contained the digital maps of the facility and went to a Map program that Ark himself had made. According to the map, she was on the elevator that led to the main entrance, obviously. W.H. probably meant warehouse, which would be a basic dead end. If Chris was anywhere in the facility, he was probably deep inside. She looked at her watch. Those chaff grenades would wear off in about thirty seconds, but she had the immediate problem of getting inside in the first place. Surely the door had some sort of keypad or card reader, some sort of security check to gain access. A few seconds she felt the elevator slow down suddenly, catching her unawares, making her lose her balance. The bright cheery _ping_ signaled the elevator's arrival to the main entrance. Claire grabbed the modified Beretta, already loaded, and aimed at the elevator door. The elevator came to a full stop, and the door opened suddenly—revealing a man, probably in his late twenties. He was clean-shaven, but his blond hair was a little unruly. His oversized glasses gave him a look of a stereotypical nerd. He looked tired. His short-sleeved white shirt adorned with the Umbrella logo was partially tucked into loose-fitting jeans. A lopsided name tag just under the red and white logo read "Hal." It took a second or two before Hal actually realized that someone was pointing a gun directly at his face. Claire put the gun in her holster as he let out a sudden scream of surprise, and Claire grabbed him and pulled him inside the elevator quickly. She slammed the door close button, then placed a hand on Hal's mouth while taking him in a headlock. 

            "Shh! I'm not going to hurt you!" Claire whispered. Hal whimpered softly, frightened out of his mind. He dared not move, but a tiny part of him began to desire being captured by such a beautiful young woman. A few seconds later, he stood there quiet. "If I take my hand away, will you be quiet?" 

            Hal nodded quickly. "Mmhmm," he said, muffled by Claire's soft hand. Claire pulled her hand away slowly. 

            "Good," Claire said. He immediately wriggled free of her grasp and Claire moved to block his exit. Resigned, he sat in a corner and began to whimper like a lost puppy, the jangle of his keychain loud against the tile floor.  

            "Relax," Claire said soothingly, as if she was consoling Sherry. "I have no desire to hurt you. I just want some answers." Hal nodded, his face beginning to turn red from embarrassment. Claire drew a look of confusion, but soon realized the cause—a wet spot was forming at the crotch of his jeans. 

            _Oh, fuck. He wet himself. That's just great. Soon I'll have to leave this elevator because it'll reek of damned piss. Better make this quick, then. _

            "Who are you?" Hal asked, trying to remove some of his embarrassment. 

"My name isn't important right now," Claire said, a look of seriousness on her face. Claire kneeled down to his level, trying hard not to gawk at the moist spot, spreading to his legs. "All I want are just some answers. I have no intention of hurting you at all."

"Okay," Hal eked out softly. 

"Have you heard of Chris Redfield?" She asked hurriedly, almost cutting him off. 

Hal looked at her, his brow furrowed in thought. "That name does ring a bell…"

Claire's eyes widened. "Concentrate." 

"Wasn't he…wait…something S.T.A.R.S.?" 

Claire tried to hide her feelings. "Was he here?" 

"Um…not that I know of. I heard his name a few times just from rumors and talk amongst the higher-ups." Hal's face drew a look of confusion. "Why?" 

"He's someone near and dear to me," Claire said, part of her mind nagging her for telling him, but he looked trustworthy. Hopefully her instinct would hold true. She hoped she wasn't caught, especially early on. A beep cut through the brief silence, then a male voice came on, sounding muffled.

"Hey, Hal," the male voice said, Claire noting the French accent. "Come in."

Claire stood rigid. 

_Shit…that's probably some guard and he might turn me in…_

Claire slowly reached for the holstered pistol, fear welling inside her. Hal reached behind him and pulled out a radio and spoke.

"Hal here."

"No need to check those Heliport cams. They all work now," The guard said. 

"Typical of them. I'll still check the wiring to see if that's the problem."

"Fine. Do that. That is all. Over and out."

Claire relaxed her tense muscles, pulling her hand away from the gun. Hal looked at her and grinned.

"As for this Chris, I don't know where he is. Sorry."

She looked disappointed, but tried to hide it. "Fine then…my other question: how do I get in?"

"You want to go in the main entrance?" Hal's eyes grew wide with fear. "That's suicide! That area is riddled with security cameras! You won't even get in the door—you'll be captured. Besides, you need a key card to get inside."

Claire smiled slyly at the techie. "This is where you come in."

"I was afraid of that," Hal bowed his head.

"You know the inner workings of the cameras and how they're set up, right?"

"Yes, but—hey! What made you guess that?" Hal asked, confused.

"You look the type," Claire replied. "Just took a wild guess."

"Oh…"

"Is there any way you can disable them?" Claire asked. 

"Well, yeah…through the control panel in the warehouse. The control panel in there is linked to the security system for the heliport, warehouse and the front of the facility."

"Yes…" Claire nodded, motioning him to continue. 

"I can temporarily disable the cameras to the main entrance…" his voice trailed off.

"But how do I get in the door? I still need to get in. Didn't you say something about a key card?"

"True…tell you what. I'll lend you my key card, scan it, then drop it by the door. No one should be entering through there. It's a little elaborate, but it works," Hal said, sighing. "I can't believe I'm doing this. You know, I wish you luck. Trying to get through the network is no easy task."

"I'm well aware of the risk," Claire agreed. "But if there is a chance that he's here, I must take it." 

"I still think this is foolish. You won't be here for long! You'll be—" Claire put a finger to his lips. "I already know, Hal. Even so, I appreciate your help. Will you help me?"

_How can I say no to that beautiful face…_

Hal sighed. "Yeah, fine." 

"Good!" Claire pressed the W.H. button, and the elevator jerked to life once again. 

"Okay…" Hal began. "The control panel to this part of the network is visible from the elevator. It was made like that to allow quick access in a case such as a failure, or an actual emergency. When I disable the cameras to the entrance, I'll look directly at you and give a quick nod. I'm only gonna leave them inactive for a minute or so. Scan my key card, drop it, then enter. After that, you're on your own."

"Thanks," Claire said. 

_Ping_!__

Hal placed a rectangular plastic card in her hand. On the back of the white card were four printed numbers—5-8-9-1. 

The elevator jerked once again to a stop at the warehouse level. 

"Quick…hide yourself somewhere!" Hal whispered, his eyes growing wide.

"It's an elevator!" Claire snapped. Her only bet would be to press herself against the wall to the right of the elevator, a narrow space. The door opened slowly, and Hal walked calmly and casually into the huge warehouse. Crates and boxes stood on shelving that appeared sky-high. Claire took quick glances at Hal before ducking back behind the slim cover the elevator offered. She heard the receding footsteps make a stop. Claire peeked once again, and saw Hal unscrewing some sort of metal cover about a hundred feet or so in front of the elevator. Claire heard the sound of metal being placed on the floor. 

Hal pulled out a control panel laced with wiring, light-emitting diodes, and buttons labeled where each respective set of wiring and lights corresponded to. 

"Which one…which one…" Hal muttered to himself. "Ahh…" He pushed a button on the panel, turning the power to the main entrance cams off. A second later, a voice came on, that same French guard. 

"Hal! The cameras for the main entrance are off! What are you doing?" the guard yelled.

Claire shot another glance at Hal. "I know, Jim. I accidentally hit the wrong switch. They'll be up in a minute!" Hal looked at Claire and gave the signal. At a moment's notice, Claire slammed the Main button and the door seemed to slow at a reduced speed—something that always happens with elevators and someone in a hurry. The elevator suddenly moved to the left, catching Claire off-guard once again, slamming her into the wall. 

"Fucking _elevator!" Claire yelled, kicking the wall. She swore to herself under her breath as her kick proved to be a little harder than she anticipated, and she hopped around on one foot, trying to ease the sharp pain in her right foot. A few seconds had gone by when the elevator jerked to a sudden slowdown once again, but Claire was prepared for this one. She quickly pulled out her PDA once again to see where she would go once she entered the facility. The entrance would give way to a large room, most likely a lobby, and in this lobby would be an elevator. She tapped the screen where the elevator was and discovered that the elevator went to several basement levels. A little popup on the small screen told her that out of the five basement levels, the B4 and B5 levels were only allowed for authorized personnel. These would be her destinations, since she felt that these two levels contained some of Umbrella's darker side, more of its viral research. Her train of thought was quickly interrupted as the elevator signaled its arrival. Wasting no time, she ran out of the elevator, not even waiting for the door to open fully. _

Racing across the concrete walkway, she spotted the glass double doors, marked with that familiar logo of Umbrella. Looking frantically around the door for any type of card reader, her heart was racing. She knew she only had seconds left before Hal would reactivate the main cameras, which were currently aimed straight at her. To her right, she spotted the two little red lights above a small rectangular box with a slit in the middle. She swiped the card through the reader. A small green LED confirmed the card, and she heard the sound of a door unlock. Hurried, she dropped the card as per Hal's instruction, and she raced inside. Not even stopping in the gigantic lobby, she saw another elevator dead ahead, her current destination. Luck seemed to be on her side, for she saw that the elevator door was open as if awaiting her arrival. Dashing across the well-maintained white tile floor, she practically dove into the elevator, almost slamming into the rear of the small enclosure. Taking a look at the control panel, she pressed B4, and thus the door closed. The gears and machinations of the elevator began to move as the elevator began its slow descent to the B4 level. Claire pulled out the device once more to see what the B4 level entailed. Looking at the map, both the B4 and the B5 levels were exactly identical in structure. Claire didn't know how Ark managed to do it, but he did, and she was thankful for creating such a program—Ark had made it so that each room was clearly marked—whether it was lab, break room, etc. The elevator would open into a hall, from which she could go right or left. Hopefully, most of the scientists would be gone for the evening, making her task a little easier. She decided that she'd go left first, explore the rooms there before making her way to the right. One of the first rooms to her left was marked, "Laundry room." Maybe she'd find a lab coat or something, an attempt at disguise. This way, she could walk in front of security cameras without being an intrusion, or so she hoped. Hopefully that Raval character wasn't around. Looking at the top of the doorway, the time was 0500, 11 PM in New York. However, this didn't give her much time. Dawn would break soon, and that meant the scientists would be slowly trickling in. 

"Please enter your four-digit passkey," a female voice said, breaking the silence. Claire was startled by the sudden intrusion, but soon collected herself when the voice repeated itself. The small alphanumerical keypad below the control panel lit up, and another voice, male, broke in. 

"Approaching B4 level. Authorized personnel only. Input passkey to allow access to restricted B4 level." 

_What four digit passkey?_

The elevator began to slow down, arriving at the B4 level. Claire began to think hard, searching for any four digit combination she saw during her short tenure. Her mind flashed back to Hal's keycard, and suddenly she remembered the four digits, 5891. She punched it into the keypad, and waited.

"Processing," the same female voice said. A few seconds seemed to drag endlessly on, until the keypad emitted a small beep. "Confirmed. Welcome, Hal." The door _pinged and opened slowly, revealing a well-lit hallway. The first thing she saw was that same industrial gray wall and the Umbrella logo, and the lettering reading B4. Cautiously, she took one foot out of the elevator, and looked all around for any sign of trouble. Directly above her head was a security camera, and she quickly moved out of the way. With no guards in the immediate vicinity, she made her way to her left, finally beginning her mission. The search had begun. _

A/N: I predict 2 more chapters before I bring this narrative to a close. The ending has already been planned, I just have to set it to paper. So did you discover who the other video game character was? Teehee. As always, if you like it (or not), send me a review! The next chapter is **Chapter 15: At the Heart of the Matter, which I'll have posted in a little while. **


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